The Baby
by Sideshow Cellophane 26
Summary: After another attempted murder, Sideshow Bob finds the Simpsons all dead! He goes into every room, and finds Maggie alive. He takes her in with his family, and peace is restored with the Terwilligers and Springfield. But still...who killed the Simpsons? There are several subjects from a past story of mine, Life. But please, bear with me.
1. What Just Happened?

**This story is so long I still haven't finished it yet. It is my third story I ever started, and includes Italian words, but from the way they're used you can understand them. There aren't many adult themes in here, but more of drama. Some humor is dotted here and there. And there are a couple of twists. Read and find out how sick I can be!**

* * *

The Simpsons were at home, asleep. Little did they know, a horrible incident was about to happen.

"I hope you are enjoying your last day on earth, _Simpsons_," Sideshow Bob said under his breath. "You thought I couldn't win. You thought you beat me every time. Well, I think for once _I_ deserve a little of your luck. Thanks to you all, I have been kicked out of everything that I love. My life has become a living hell, and thanks you, everything that's good in my life are pulled away from me! Not marriage, of course. But most everything else."

Bob had made his way to the tree house. Climbing up, he put the kitchen knife in the mouth. _Now for revenge… THE BLOODY WAY!_

First was the parent's room. Bob climbed in, and was shocked into silence. They were already dead. Slit throats in the bed.

Next was Bart's room. Oh, he was going to make Bart's last.

Bob ended up passing through that room too, Bart was stabbed to death. Joy filled his heart, but so did curiosity. Who killed them? He hurried on to Lisa's room, slowly realizing his job may be done completely.

He hoped if she was still alive, he could find out what happened. But three out of five . . . She had a slit throat, the knife still in it. It was a gruesome sight, the bodies still fresh.

He now entered the baby's room.

Bob looked in her cradle, expecting to see another bloody throat. But she was wide awake, crying silently to herself.

Maggie curled in her blankets, hugging the stuffed bunny from her family, given to her on her first birthday. When she saw Bob, Maggie wiped her tears with a sleeve and stared wide-eyed at him.

Bob turned on the light. At least she was still alive.

He smiled. "I bet you weren't expecting me this evening. Or anytime soon. Since you are the only one left, I suppose you would want to join your beloved ones? Give me a chance to end a hell that is bound to happen in an orphanage?"

Bob raised the knife just as flashbacks of the rest of the family's butchered bodies entered his mind. Who killed the rest of them? All he wanted was to kill the boy. Cecil had wanted to kill Lisa. But that was over with. Someone had just recently killed the family in their sleep, making short and sloppy work of it, leaving only an infant trembling under the sheets. Leaving the baby. Actually, all that he wanted to do was come in, kill the boy, and get the hell out.

Bob couldn't just leave Maggie here; nobody ever broke into the house. And she wouldn't be found for at least another week. Died slowly from hunger. She was smart, but the cradle was raised too high for her to climb out. She would be trapped.

He again looked down at the baby's face, unable to raise the knife upon the orphan. He couldn't bring Maggie to an orphanage; the nuns would see him and call the cops. And then he'd really be charged for murder. But he couldn't bring her home; they were barely passing by as it was.

But Bob couldn't leave her here. He made his decision.

He went back into every room, trying to make it look like Homer did it by laying him in Maggie's room, holding the knife.

For Maggie, he rubbed the blood off of the knife and brushed it on a life sized doll from Lisa's room. For extra measure, (and so it wouldn't look like it wasn't set up,) he stabbed the doll, and oh so carefully let blood droplets fall around that.

Bob took off his blood covered gloves and set them in the washer.

No possible way the police wouldn't think Homer did it all. Then again, the police weren't the sharpest people around.

Robert went back upstairs to retrieve Maggie and some of her belongings. The last thing his family needed was for her to start crying because she didn't have anything to play with, or reminders of her family.

He got a back pack from Marge's closet, and began to pack several items that would make the baby feel better.

He packed one of Lisa and Marge's necklaces, Bart's slingshot, and one of Homer's shirts to wrap her in.

Next, Bob packed clothes. Then several toys, mainly because she kept putting them in the bag. He also packed milk bottles, one of which she joyously began to suck down, because Gino had grown out of those before they came to America.

Bob smiled and lifted the girl into his arms. By now, two hours had passed, and it was now 1 in the morning. At least he would make a clean getaway.

As he looked into Maggie's eyes, Bob felt a huge jolt of guilt for what he had just found. At least someone had finally killed that damned boy, but also killed the entire family. Leaving the innocent baby an orphan. What had she done? Maggie only followed her family, she couldn't help being in the middle of a feud between two families. Possibly more, since _Homer_ was her father, and he was "a people person. Who drinks."

Either way, what's done is done. The Simpsons were dead, the blame on a dead Homer.


	2. The House

**YAY! Sorry for the wait, but never more!**

Silently, Bob went back through the window, making sure none of his finger prints were left behind while escaping. He was extra careful carrying the sleeping baby, wrapped in Homer's shirt to avoid any recognization from anybody.

Hiking back to the house wasn't going to be easy carrying a baby and her stuff, and Bob considered dropping her bag on the side of the street. But they were low on money as it was, and he couldn't afford new clothes or toys for another child. She would have to make do with what they savaged from Italy.

It took an hour to get to his home without going through town. But when he got there, Francesca greeted him with open arms. Until she saw the lump in them.

"Roberto, you did kill them, didn't you?"

"Mio caro, I found them dead. All of them, except for the baby. Let us go inside. I will explain the rest."

Everyone was in the living room except for Dame Judith and Robert Sr. They were in hiding in England. Everyone who was in the house was waiting for good news. Or news that Bob was in jail again.

And when they saw him walk in with a baby in his arms, the Terwilligers grew angry.

"I thought you were going to finish them off! Or get arrested again, not bring another mouth to feed!" Cecil put his head in his hands.

"I know," Bob put Maggie down on the table, propping her head against the stuffed rabbit. "I couldn't kill an orphan. Not like that. If you can, be my guest." He put his pocket knife next to Maggie.

By now, she was wide awake, staring at the strangers that brought her to a weird place.

Cecil took the knife and raised it up.

Maggie cringed back, afraid that this man would actually kill her, like the man in black that thought she wasn't there. She shut her eyes and hugged the stuffed animal, preparing for death.

Cecil couldn't bring the knife down, couldn't kill her when she . . . was like _this_. He put the knife down, shook his head, and tried again. His hand fell to his side, finding Robert correct.

"How did the Simpsons not wake up after you took her?"

"They didn't. The Simpsons were killed sometime between two and four hours before I got there. I tried to kill the baby, but couldn't kill her cold blooded. Yet I couldn't just leave Margret there to starve. It'll be a couple of days before anybody realizes nobody has come out of that house."

"Someone killed them? _All_ of them?" Gino's face lit up. "How did they do it?"

"The parents and Lisa had slit throats, and Bart was stabbed."

"I…they're finally dead." He laughed. Cecil enjoyed the happiness that the fighting was finally over, that they could move away and _not_ be found and sent back to prison. But then he realized something. "But if the police find the bodies stabbed and such, then won't _we_ be suspects?"

"I thought about that already. I made it look like Homer was the one who killed them by giving him the knife and laying his corpse in Maggie's room."

"Then don't you think they'll find out Maggie's missing?"

"Have you seen them? The police in our town won't know the difference between the bloody doll I left behind and her."

"Even the police must be smarter than _that_."

"You would honestly be shocked at how much I want to laugh right now," Bob said smiling. "I suppose just in case we'd better watch the news, keep an eye on things." He lifted Maggie into his arms and took her to one of the extra rooms.

The house was very small, with only two bathrooms, a kitchen, living/dining room, and four bedrooms.

It may have sounded big and grand when they first rented it, but there was a reason why the rent was cheap. There were several mice crawling around inside the walls, the roof leaked into the dining and living room, and instead of a heater, there was a fireplace. Oh, and three people were murdered and "haunted" the joint.

Bob placed the baby inside the fourth room, placing her on the bed. The ghostly figure went back into the closet, shutting the door behind him. Gino followed his father in and watched.

"If you can kill her, be my guest. But as for now, Maggie Simpson is now Maggie Terwilliger."

"Why can't you put her in an orphanage?"

"Because somebody would recognize her. And recognize me bringing her. If they do that, we'll be in a far worse place than prison. And, if I do drop her in an orphanage at night, than security cameras will see me. And, since it will be at night…."

"So what? We take care of a Simpson?"

"Actually, I've spent some time with her. Margret seems to be different from the rest of her family. And I mean in our way."

"But she's still a-"

"Soon, she won't have any memory of them. And as soon as that happens, I will rid of that family photo she's attached to, and rid of any evidence that she was ever a Simpson. Except for the hair. And you won't get any less attention; we just need to see what will happen. Now, could you please help surround Maggie with pillows so she won't fall?"

Soon, Maggie was surrounded by pillows, hugging her stuffed bunny. Bob and Gino left to play poker.

And as soon as they left, the baby got up. Maggie wasn't about to let her memories of her real family go away. Nor would she forget what that man had done.

She looked around and spotted the bag with all of her stuff. Maggie crawled over to it and found the necklaces and her pacifier. She got busy making what was now all that she had left of the family.

Soon, a necklace was created. It had red and white pearls goin ABAB, and her pacifier in the center. Bart's slingshot was grasped firmly in her hand, and Homer's shirt still a blanket, draped loosly over her shoulders.

She ripped apart the Velcro in the back of the bunny and stuffed the slingshot inside. Looking in there, Maggie realized how many items there were.

Another family photo, for instance. And a stolen pocket knife from Homer. And his wallet with about a hundred dollars in cash, and more pictures of the family. A deck of cards was stashed in the stomach as well, and she remembered Homer teaching her how to play all sorts of games so she could gamble. Lisa's notebook was in there, half filled with notes of school studies. Now, looking back, she realized that since they didn't complain about missing these belongings, she could get away with stuff.

A big reason why she started the collection of Homer's guns.

She squeezed the bunny, feeling better. Maggie put on the necklace. Still holding on to the bunny, she climbed the bedside table's drawers up to the window. In doing so, she knocked down the lamp.

_Damn._

"What was that?" Cecil said from the other room. Maggie could hear footsteps echoing in the hallway. She scrambled down, just as the door burst open. Francesca and Bob stood in her way.

Maggie expected this. She ran in-between their legs and made it to the hallway.

"_She'll go to the police_!"

"_I'll get her_!" Cecil hurried from the table to the door, on his knees so she wouldn't go under. Maggie backtracked, but Bob and Francesca were behind. Trying the other way, Gino was ding a knife. She put up her fists, dropping the rabbit. She motioned with her fingers for Gino to 'come here,' and held her fists back up. When she turned to Bob the opposite way, Cecil swept her in his arms.

She struggled for a moment, but he tightened his grip, making her lose circulation.

He carried her back to her room. "You sure fight like an adult, for just a baby. And if you try that again, forget about this nice, soft bed you have here. The couch is far more comfortable in my opinion." He walked out, leaving Maggie.


	3. Bad News

She sucked it together, and went to the living room where a familiar game of poker was being held.

By now it was early in the morning, but nobody was tired. The Terwilligers just wanted to hear the news about the murder so they could be sure whether it was safe to stay or move.

It was most likely best to move out of the country, get a new last name and new jobs. But no stolen faces. Bob taught them all that.

"Should we change Mary's clothes? She seems to trip an awful lot," Cecil asked, looking down at the baby.

"_Maggie_. And if you think so, you change her clothing. I may have brought her here, but-"

"I'll change her," Francesca spoke up from the copy of _Hamlet._ She picked the girl up and brought her to the room. "How about this one?" she picked up a dark blue shirt.

When Maggie was changed, it hung down to her knees, and she seemed to love it. Her blue hair bow was found as well, and she had put it on while looking in the mirror.

"I remember meeting your family for the first time. You and your mother actually seemed quite nice, until your sister revealed what Roberto really was. I suppose it was his fault though, because he encouraged for Lisa to drink that wine. We were so happy, though, before you people came. Your family was the only people we could blame for it. And I am so sorry that they are dead. I never really anticipated the rest of them dying. We just wanted your brother dead." By now Maggie's lip was quivering at the mention of her dead family.

She remembered perfectly well how it had happened. They were all sitting on the couch, enjoying a late night movie since it was Friday. Maggie remembered Bart and Lisa fighting that night, and Homer yelling at them to shut up.

Then, all of a sudden, a loud crashing noise came from the window, and there was broken glass everywhere. She didn't see anything really, but Momma had carried her upstairs to her room.

"You need to be really quiet for mommy, OK? Please, please, don't make a sound. I love you so much." Mom had kissed her on the head right before running out of the room.

"Do you remember what you did to me? DO YOU REMEMBER?" a deep voice shouted from downstairs.

"You? I thought you were dead!" daddy's voice lifted in through the ceiling.

"I was. But now I'm back to make sure you pay for what you did to me and my son!"

Maggie heard several screams that were cut off immediately. She even heard footsteps rushing upstairs, then someone falling.

And then silence.

A man dressed in black and glasses came into her room, with a bloody knife. She held perfectly still when he raised the knife, then let it go. He went back out of the room, without closing the door.

Several minutes later, he passed by with the dead bodies of her family, one by one. She began to cry as soon as the front door slammed shut.

About an hour later, another person entered the house. She began to cry again, afraid that the man in black was back to kill her. He went from one room to the next, each one closer to her room.

Finally, Sideshow Bob entered her room. The rest is written down.

Tears began to fall from her face, but were stopped when Francesca wiped them away. She reminded Maggie of Marge, which made her sadder.

"Do you want to stay in here or come with me?" Maggie pointed to Francesca, and reached her arms out. "You're smarter than I gave you credit for."

They walked into the living room, and Maggie sat down at the table. Francesca sat back down, picking up where she left off in _Hamlet_.

"I doubt you'd know how to play," Cecil said shuffling the cards. Maggie took them away and began to shuffle without looking faster than he had, even pulling aces out of the middle of the stack. She then dealt, going slower at this rate.

They began a game of Texas Holdem'.

Maggie won three games in a row, winning a total of $107.

"Don't know how to play my _neck_," Bob said, throwing down his cards. Maggie just smiled at them, collecting the money.

"She's cheating! No infant this young can know how to play poker better than grown men."

"I taught you how to play Texas Holdem' when you were two in Italy. Maggie isn't that far behind."

"Even so, how can a baby know how to cheat in poker? Either way, I don't want to play when she's around," Cecil took the cards and put them in the case. "Let's check the news."

"It's four in the morning."

"Check it anyway."

When the TV was turned on, Kent Brockman was broadcasting about the weather.

"So Springfield has been under some pretty dry weather, but that will change tomorrow. We're in for some heavy thunder storms, so unplug your computers.

"In another unrelated story, we are broadcasting from The Simpsons driveway. Mr. Ned Flanders was the one to find them all stabbed to death and/or with slit throats. Yes my dear viewers, the Simpsons have been murdered. The entire family. Especially the baby. It has been guessed that she had the most violent death. It almost looks like Homer did it, but police have found that somebody gave him the knife, as there weren't any of Homer's fingerprints on it.

"Ned Flanders has refused to be interviewed, and I'm not allowed to show you the bodies of the victims, but I can tell you this: the murderer left behind a bloody trail out the door, where it will soon be washed away by the coming rain. The police are currently following the blood trail, which seems to have curved through and around the town. Ironic, isn't it? We needed that rain, but we now need dry weather. We seem to have a lot of irony in this town. And in another unrelated story, this is the three-year anniversary of Frank Grimes's de-"

Cecil turned the volume down and turned towards Bob. "You didn't step in any blood, did you? I mean, you would have noticed, wouldn't you?"

"Not that I know of. And I didn't go through the busy part of town; I curved around it through poor town."

"With our luck, the police are going to come to our house, because the real culprit framed you. If they show at the door right now, I am going to kill you with my bare hands." He turned it back up, crossing his arms.

"…and the police do have suspects. Mr. Burns, Fat Tony, and… the dead Frank Grimes? Well he's dead, how can Grimes be a suspect? A curse? You're full of it, Tony. Uh, anyway, Sideshow Bob and his family will be questioned, but they wouldn't kill the entire family. Just the two oldest children Bart and Lisa. We just had to have more than four people to question about this crime.

"In yet another unrelated story, I have lost my phone. If anybody finds it-" Cecil turned off the TV and turned to Bob.

"We need to either have one of us move and bring her, or get out of town altogether. I suggest we go, because no one wants to stay in this hell hole."

"I'll start packing, you watch her. Maggie may get into the knives and God help us if that happens."

"Wait Bob, you're the one who- _argh_!" Bob had walked into his room to begin packing, leaving Cecil to Maggie.

She got up and went over to the couch, now empty. The others had gone off to pack, and now it was just the two. Maggie sat down on the couch and put her hands in her lap.

She looked a little too innocent for Cecil. "If you think I'm going to fall for the innocent and sweet look, you're wrong. I have been tricked into that one before, and when I came back the room was a jungle. So I suppose Bob is packing my bag, and I shall stay here."

He sat down next to the girl and picked up _Hamlet_. She continued to stay still, but sat up straight.

Cecil noticed her stillness, and put the book down. He leaned back in the corner of the sofa, and so did she on the other side. He noticed this and began to drum his fingers. Maggie began to do so as well. He smiled and pulled her onto his lap.

"I'm sorry about your family. I'm sorry that Bob was going to kill your brother. But if Bob had done that, then the rest wouldn't have died, and you would have only lost Bart. If I had gone, then Lisa would have died. And that's only if the real murderer didn't show. If he had, then I wouldn't be here. If Bob had gone, I'd be celebrating right now." He meant this as a joke. Sort of.

Maggie began to sniffle, showing she had understood.

"If only you could talk. We could know who killed them, if he or she had gone into your room."

Maggie cringed into his body, now silently weeping to herself. "_Did_ the culprit enter your room?"

Maggie nodded. She remembered how close it was when the man in black came into her room. And when he dragged the corpses of her dead family into their rooms.

"Why didn't he- damn, if you could only talk!" he said, frustrated.

Cecil suddenly felt a feeling he never thought he would feel for a Simpson. Sorrow.

Maggie had been at the hand of a heartless murderer, and for some apparent reason she wasn't stabbed.

Maybe he had the same reason as Bob. The culprit couldn't kill an innocent baby. Or maybe he thought she was an inanimate object, like a doll. Or he didn't realize the police would come in so soon, and she would starve to death.

Either way, the culprit didn't kill her. Maggie couldn't talk, and by that time she'd have forgotten everything about that night.


	4. Can't Run, Can Hide

By now, the others had packed their bags. Bob had packed Cecil's bag, and Maggie was asleep in his arms.

They all got out of the house as quickly as possible, and were on the road.

Soon, Bob realized they had nowhere to run.

"Alright, let's see. We can't go back to Italy, we can't go to London again, though that would be fulfilling. There's always France, I suppose."

"Can't. I would be recognized. Long story, don't ask. Canada?"

"That's a good suggestion. You went to France?"

"Yes, during those ten years we didn't see each other. And please don't talk about it."

"OK. Hawaii is a nice place this time of year."

"I have always wanted to go to Hawaii." Francesca said, bringing back different brochures from the gas station, Hawaii being one of them.

They went on like this for a while until they decided to just stay in hiding. Going out of town meant money, which they had very little of. Especially with how much plane tickets cost these days.

Soon, they were back home, where the police wouldn't find them. The Terwilligers were on parole for good behavior and no fighting for a week. But that was the last that anybody saw them. Except for the land lord, who was a good friend with Cecil. They got the house cheap and easy, and the landlord promised the cops would never find them.

Maggie was put to bed, even though it was only six in the morning. Everyone else went to bed as well, not worrying about the authorities yet.

Bob stayed up late (early, until about 7 in the morning), thinking about Maggie. The murderer must have thought her room was for storage, or something else.

Either way, the more he thought about it, the more it became clear the Simpsons were placed in the beds already dead. The covers didn't have enough blood on them, if the throats were really slit. And Bart was stabbed. His covers were pulled up too high, and he was lying on his back. They all were.

Somebody must've killed them downstairs. They tried to fight, but whoever he was put up a bigger one. Or they.

Maggie was in bed when that happened. That's for sure, so she wouldn't know.

Bob got up and went to her room. Maggie was awake, eyes literally almost wide enough to fall out if possible. He pulled her out, cradling her body like a delicate doll.

"You must be scared he'll come back for you."

Maggie nodded. "It's quit alright. So long as we're here, the man won't show his dimwitted face in public. Despite the fact that he got to the boy first." Bob turned dark for a moment, then brightened. "I'm sure by the time you are able to talk, he'll be long gone. So for now, good night _Tesoro_." He put Maggie back down, kissing her gently on the forehead before leaving.

Maggie stayed up early as well; the only thoughts going through her mind were the man in black killing her. She feared that the people she now lived with would kill her. Afraid that somebody was waiting to come out of the shadows and butcher her horribly. Afraid the only people who actually liked her were Bob and Grandpa.

_Grandpa_.

He was still alive! She wanted to see him at least once more, the crazy old fool. If the town would hold a funeral for the family, then she could go. In disguise, of course.

Tomorrow will be the day. Or, later on today, if the others still understand her.

Soon, Maggie was the first to awake at noon. She got up to explore the house, familiarize herself with it. There wasn't much to see except another room for storage. She got into the boxes and found some of Bob's old clown belongings from the Krusty show.

_Bet I won't be able to see that ever again._

She got out the necklace first, and carried it with her throughout the tour. Next came Bob's room. She made sure to be extra quiet in here.

There was a knife collection in the corner, and a closet she didn't dare open.

After that came Cecil's room. There was nothing too different in here except for a Krusty doll on a shelf, which looked really old.

_Must be from his early childhood. Didn't Lisa say something about him worshipping Krusty when he was a kid?_

A picture of Cecil, a woman, and child all laughing on a beach was hanging on the wall. The boy had Bob's hair, except it was brown. The woman looked a lot like Francesca. The same eyes and nose. A light shade of brown with bangs in the same hairstyle as Francesca's made her look very much like her.

_Who could they be…?_

She skipped Gino's room entirely. Italy was already an uncomfortable subject, much less seeing him tell on her for being in there.

There was a closet at the end of the hallway, which she reluctantly opened. It was a big closet, with weights on shelves. There was a huge one in the center of the room, and cleaning supplies to the right wall.

_Mama used to use those._

Maggie walked out of there, and went back into her room. There, she put the necklace into the bunny. It seemed as if anything she thought would be worthwhile, it went into that bunny.

Maggie walked back into the living/dining room and grabbed an apple from the basket on the table.

Having finished that, she went over to the TV and turned it on.

Itchy and Scratchy were just finishing, and Krusty's face popped back up. Unfortunately, the sound of the clown's laugh woke a now angered Bob. He stomped into the room, whereas Maggie changed the channel and smiled sweetly.

"Oh sure, the innocent look. Now look here, _friend_." Bob leaned in close to Maggie, and she backed away slowly until he grabbed her shirt. "_I_ brought you here, and you will follow _my_ rules. Number one: absolutely NO Krusty. I don't want any part of that buffoon clown for the rest of my life, you hear?"

Maggie gulped and nodded.

"Number two: no rakes in the house. You must've seen how many times I end up stepping on those damn things. Three:" he leaned down closer to Maggie's ear, and whispered, "no falling in love with my son.*" He got back up. "Are we clear on these three rules so far? There may be more to come, _dear_." **(Sorry. No Maggie x Gino in this one. There will be more to come. But you'll understand why later.)**

Maggie nodded, hugging her knees to her chest. At least he wasn't holding a knife . . .

It was one now, and they were all up and awake. Francesca served muffins and pancakes, which everyone gobbled down. Despite it being lunch.

Maggie went into the workout room, and began with the five pounders. Cecil went in shortly after, and laughed when he saw the baby lifting weights.

"Although it's a good thing to do, you may not want to do that at such an early age. You may hurt yourself, and we can't afford hospital bills." He got under the bars, and began lifting the heavier weights.

Maggie glared at him for a second, and then turned back to her five pounds. Suddenly, she didn't feel so special anymore. She felt like somebody needed revenge.

Maggie got up and pretended to put her set up. She then pretended to continue looking, right down to where Cecil was. She dragged a chair to him and got on it.

He noticed her watching him, but didn't stop. She just sat there, watching. No harm done.

Until Maggie leaned forward and began to tickle his stomach.

Cecil began to laugh and lose control of his arms. He swung his arms back, avoiding the weights smacking into his throat. His arms were twisted behind the platform where he was laying.

Unfortunately, Maggie saw this as an opportunity to attack his weakest point. He started laughing harder, trying to thrust her off. She only held onto his shirt and tickled beneath the arms. Cecil tried yelling for Francesca, Bob, anybody who could get her off. He had never been tickled before, and didn't like it. At all. Nor did it help that she wouldn't stop.

* * *

Finally, after what seemed like an eternity, she did. Panting, Cecil said, "I'm sorry for-for laughing *wheeze* at you. Please, don't go back to tickling. I can't feel my arms." He groaned on the last part, earning Maggie's yes on letting him go. Coincidently, Bob entered the room at that same time.

"What the hell?" he picked up Maggie, helped Cecil with the weights, and asked, "How…how did she…?"

Cecil rambled like a boy spinning a tale to his father. When finished, he turned away, clearly embarrassed.

"Cecil? It's my fault. I should have warned you about her. Maggie's…different from the rest of her family. She is more like us in almost every way, except for the fact; of course, she has been living with our enemies for her life. Point is: never anger her. I learned the hard way."

Bob set Maggie down, and walked out of the room smirking. A couple of seconds later, they could hear heavy laughter from the hallway.

"Papa, are you alright?"

"Oh, it's nothing. I just discovered your uncle's ticklish."

Maggie began to suck on her thumb, now afraid of what would happen. Cecil got up and stared back.

"Damn right you better be afraid." He walked out, leaving Maggie to whatever she would do next.

Deep inside, however, Cecil felt like he knew her from somewhere. But how was that possible? He hadn't even met her until Robert's lecture on the Simpsons. Even then, she seemed familiar just from the picture. Maybe she just resembled Lisa too much . . . He smiled, remembering that day. Even Homer couldn't ruin it with one of his insults. It was a bit of a miracle, really. How both families had both children on the same day.

Cecil walked into his room, and got out the picture of him, Maris and Neil. A tear rolled down his cheek, which was quickly wiped away.

Heat burning at his skin flashed through his mind. So did screams of a woman and child, yelling for help.

* * *

**Heh. Couldn't resist, he had it coming for laughing at Maggie. But remember. He is ticklish . . . .**

**Also, if you don't know who Maris and Neil are, please refer to my fic **_**Life**_**. All you need to know are ages 9, 26, and 29 parts one and two, but it's much appreciated to read all of the chapters.**


	5. The Funeral

The police car rolled down the street, slowly but steadily. Francesca was the lookout. She hid behind the curtains when the car came down their neighborhood, yet left just enough open to get a good look-through.

Wiggum and Lou were laughing and talking, eating donuts. They weren't even studying the houses, like good cops should have done.

"What a world we live in. The police can't even keep a good eye on a bad neighborhood."

"It isn't that bad. At least we're in the clear now. And they don't even have a clue as to where we really are," Cecil snuck up behind her.

"I suppose. But even so, how will the real murderer be brought to justice? And what if he frames us for them?"

"Then we-ooh." The police come in and find Maggie in the house. A baby supposed to be dead, and they all say they didn't do it.

Even Wiggum is smarter than _that_. "I suppose we wait and see. After all, the aunts aren't likely to be able to take care of Margret. The grandfather has dementia, as I recall. The other grandmother is in a resting home, and I think the step-uncle doesn't even remember her."

"How did you know so much about their family?"

"Your husband and I had a lot of free time in jail. Anyways, they're driving down the other side of the neighborhood," Cecil pointed to the police car, and sure enough, they were laughing and talking down the end of the street.

Maggie came up behind them all. She tugged on Francesca's dress and held up a picture of her family. Then she held up a black shirt. Her motion was obvious.

"Oh no, dear. We can't- well . . . if we disguise you, maybe we could get away with it…."

"You want to go to their funeral? We can't take the chance. Maybe sometime we can disguise ourselves and go to their graves, but going out there is suicide for us." Bob commented.

Maggie sighed and pushed her face against the glass.

_Guess I won't be able to go_.

She got an idea and turned to go into her room. She put on the black shirt and pulled out the family belongings. The slingshot went into her back pocket, a grey shirt went onto her head as a bandanna, and her pink shoes were the only pair she had.

Maggie S. was now totally unrecognizable, and escaped out the window.

_If they aren't gonna let me go, then I'll just go without em'. All I need to do is not get recognized, and not see any of the relatives._

Maggie arrived at the funeral in almost no time, as it was being held at the church. Thankfully it wasn't far away, and she knew exactly where to go.

Maggie was allowed in by an old lady, and squeezed into a seat in the front row. Reverend Lovejoy began to speak, and let the people see the coffins. He and several others agreed it wasn't best to show the bodies, and instead showed a picture of each person at the head of the coffin.

Maggie began to cry, with the first corpse being Marge. It followed on to Homer, Bart, Lisa, and her "coffin." Maggie regained herself and found the courage to look around.

Her family, the ones alive, were sitting right beside her. Grandpa, Aunts Patty and Selma, Uncle Herb, Grandma, and the rest. They were all crying, or had signs that they had been, and she felt like crawling into one of their laps and crying harder.

She held back the urge and sucked it up. Maggie kept her head down, praying that her bandanna not fall off.

Reverend Lovejoy kept preaching for the next hour, letting the public say their final word.

Grandpa was up first, "Well, Homer's life all started in 1495, during the pagan experience. He was a rough little boy, very troubled. It just got worse when Christopher Columbus gave him a wedgie. And then, in 1627, he learned how to drive, and that's how Abraham Lincoln became a vampire hunter . . ."

Millhouse said, "Bart was my best friend. Without him, there won't be any more fun. And I've loved Lisa since I can remember." he sniffed. "I shall never love again." He ran off, crying.

Jenney said, "Lisa wasn't my best of friends, but I was one of her only friends. And now, without her, nobody will be there to correct the teacher except for Martin."

Moe, Maggie's favorite babysitter, said, "I'll miss my best customer. Or, second best." He gazed at Barney, "And I'll miss Maggie the most out of the family."

The Aunts came up next. Patty clearly stated, "We always knew Homer would be the end of this family. Nobody has proven this yet, but we know they'll come around to it."

"We'll miss the kids, but we'll miss our sister the most. Love ya sis." They saluted to the Heavens, spat on Homer, and sat back down.

Krusty came up and said, "Well, the entire family has helped me sometime, at one point or another. I guess I'll miss the boy most of all, since he has saved my career the most. Same with Lisa."

Mr. Burns came up with Smithers, making Maggie grit her teeth. "Mr. Smithers will do the talking for me. But I want to say one thing first: each of them has had a part in my life. Maggie shot me and gave me my Bobo. Bart was once my heir. Lisa helped me become a millionaire again, Marge painted a portrait of me, which we all gazed upon, and Homer worked for me for ten years. Now, Mr. Smithers."

"Uh, Sir, you just said everything I was supposed to say."

"Then say my original part!"

"The Simpsons have helped Mr. Burns in more ways than one, and for that he thanks them. Except for Maggie, who shot him."

Maggie gritted her teeth and tried not to react to that last comment.

Sideshow Mel was next. "Ahem," he straightened his tie. Maggie was confused; she didn't remember seeing much of him at their house (**Mel is one of my favorite characters; had to get him in somewhere!)**. "I . . . would like to thank the Simpsons for everything that they have done to me. Marge helped me rid of that recurring dream in which I am falling. Homer . . . Bart actually helped me with Krusty; replacing me for a while and letting my crushed bones mend. Maggie shot Mr. Burns, and at the time I owed a debt to him. So I have her to thank for saving me my son's college money. Now Lisa… her especially. I saved her from falling from stardom before it was too late, and she in return saved my employer. And she helped me realize: my life is—w-_was_ a sham. So thanks to her, I quit my job as a sideshow." Everybody gasped.

"You what?" Krusty got up and marched in front of him.

"I haven't enjoyed the way you treat me. _Us_. _All_ of your sideshows. Sooner or later, they end up going insane, or quitting, or hurting you. So I am leaving before I have the chance to do any of those. I have gotten my old job back as a Shakespearian actor, and hope you even bothered to pick up and _open_ my resignation letter."

"What letter? You can't just leave me hanging like this!"

"I gave you the letter this morning, and even said I was quitting. Now if you shall excuse me, I have the rest of my life to live," he turned to Lisa's casket, uttered a final thanks, and went back to his seat. Krusty stood where he was, speechless, and slowly went back to his.

Maggie was shocked her family had that big of an impact on the town. Her heart filled with hope that they weren't the worst family in Springfield, but the most interactive. Some people hated them, some—like Mel—were thankful.

Many others said things about the family. Most comments to Homer weren't very nice, nor were the comments to Bart, but otherwise nice things.

Finally, a man came up, and he seemed very familiar.

"I just want to say-" Maggie remembered who he was. "That I knew and tried to kill this family many times. Mainly the boy. But I want to say out loud, to you all," Bob scanned the crowd, looking every person in the eye, "that I am sorry." Everybody gasped. "I'm sorry for everything. Sorry for trying to kill Selma, for trying to blow up the town, for everything! I didn't kill the Simpsons, nor do I know who killed them but when I saw them in the news, how they all were murdered….at first I felt joy like no other I will ever feel again, the same joy from when my son was born. And his first words." He smiled. Gino's first words had been, "T'mon, Papa!" in an adorable toddler accent when he was first showing Gino his lavish office.

"Until I kept thinking. I'm only happy that the boy is gone. I'm not thrilled somebody cut off the joy of the hunt for me, and I'm not happy about being down to three enemies (the rake, television, and I'm still a tad bit mad at Krusty), and I'm sorry that they're all dead. Except for Bart. And as for Mel," he looked at the ex-sidekick, "glad you learned from my mistakes." Bob stepped down, happy that a load was finally off his back.

Springfield was silent for a minute, and then Reverend Lovejoy spoke up: "I think this concludes that we're all sorry that they're dead. Even the man with the most hatred towards them. And so long as he doesn't try to kill us all again I think this calls for a celebration for their lives, and for a hopefully changed man. And a new life," He smiled at Mel, then ushered Bob down.

"So long as Bart is out of my life, I'm a happy man." Bob went to where Maggie was sitting, and pulled her onto his lap.

"And who is _she_?" the Reverend pointed to Maggie.

"My…" he didn't want to say that she was his daughter in fear that later on she'll be recognized, or she would say that he killed the family. "She's my niece. I'm watching her for the day, and she and Maggie knew each other."

"Aw, now look at that. He has reformed. What's her name?"

Bob thought for two seconds before coming to a girl's name. "Maria."

"Beautiful name. Now everyone," Lovejoy turned back to the crowd, "let us take a moment of silence before burying the family."

"_Finally_," Bob said as he started the car.

Maggie smiled nervously and shrugged.

_You wouldn't let me go._

"I thought for sure your family would recognize you. Nice disguise, by the way."

_All in your clothing supplies_.

"I think I finally cleared the awkwardness between the town and I, and I sincerely hope your family does forgive me. It was just Bart that got me…." He trailed off into silence.

They arrived at the house, and Maggie took several deep breaths before going into the house. Bob just went in.

Everyone was in the living room, waiting. "Before you say it, she was at the funeral. Disguised thankfully, but I had to clear our name. It worked. By the way Cecil, they think she's your daughter. Her name's Maria."

"You-they think I'm her _father_? Why would you tell them _that_?"

"If we get rid of her, then everybody would ask me where she was, what happened. Sure, I could just say that she died, but niece was better."

"But now I'll be expected to be with her a lot! If I say the mother is dead, which I-" Cecil's voice broke on this last part, "will. I…" he sighed angrily. "Fine. Whatever."

He stormed off into his room. "I wonder what that was about? A lot happened in the ten years we didn't see each other, but he couldn't have married, had children, and they died in just ten years.**"

The walls were very thin, so Cecil could hear every word. He picked up the picture.

_I miss them so much. It was four years ago, and I'm still not over it. Should I take on another child like this?_

Cecil put down the picture, depressed. Seeing Bob right after the accident wasn't the best for the mood. In fact, that drove him right off the edge. Going to jail didn't help either, though it felt good to make Bob miserable, too. But dear _god_, seeing Tom* there . . . That was when hell _really_ started. At least he was transferred.

It just got worse, however, when Robert showed up at jail with his family, who reminded Cecil of his own, and a new way to kill the boy. And they got sent to prison again. A lifetime sentence, this time.

Finally, after months, they were released for good behavior and space.

_Too many people in this town go to jail. At least Robert held in the urge to go over to the house and kill the boy in his sleep. Or, at least he waited._

**** - Once again, I recommend **_**Life**_** if you don't understand now, but it will be explained later.**

*** - Tom Vinne is my OC. I won't spoil anything else, but he is **_**evil**_**. Damien evil (**_**The Omen**_**).**


	6. One Day More

**This chapter is to explain what their lives are now. Just saying. **

* * *

Sure enough, the police couldn't get far enough into the blood trail due to rain washing it away. It was heading for the east forest, to which the police (Wiggum) couldn't follow.

None of the Terwilligers were questioned, and everyone seemed more… happy around them. Like a cloak was lifted. Even the family was happy, despite Maggie's presence. She actually found living with this family was easier than her old one, though her heart couldn't stand the pain at night.

Now, a week has passed. Cecil got his old job at the dam back. Bob got a job at the library, leaving Francesca to care for the children.

"Papa, can I go?" Gino asked, pleading.

"Well, the library isn't a criminal-infested building. Why not?"

"Just the two of us?"

"And several employees. "Maria" doesn't like going to the library."

"Nor does she enjoy my employees."

"That's because your employees are slack-jawed yokels, Cecil. There's no denying it."

"Well, excuse me for who's hired. Am I to blame?"

"A big part, yes."

Cecil sneered and walked off.

"Where are you going so soon?"

"Work. Cletus has gotten a hold of the dynamite, and nobody knows what it does. I need to get there as soon as possible, before they make me go broke." With that, he left.

Soon after, Bob and Gino left as well, leaving the women alone. Francesca came into the living room, and saw Maggie playing with the darts.

"My God, you are getting perfects shots every time!" she was shooting every dart right into the center of the board, forming a long line of connected darts.

Maggie turned around and smiled. _I take it that it _isn't_ normal to get ten direct hits in a row._

"Where do you get it from?" she said, shaking her head. First putting on her coat, Francesca picked Maggie and her bandanna up, and went outside to the car.

It was the same one that Bob had used while switching faces with Walter. Despite that it wasn't his to take; somehow Walter had lost rights as the owner while in jail. So, it had ended up in Bob's hands since he was technically the last owner.

"OK. We are going to the store, since paychecks just came in yesterday, and since we are low on food. And I hope you don't mind, but you need to sit in the back without a seat. Roberto took Gino's. Do you need- nope." Maggie had already buckled herself in. "heck, you are already passing as one of us. How did your family teach you so young in life? Or did you teach yourself?" Maggie shrugged.

_They didn't pay enough attention to me to teach all of it. But I did learn a lot from each when they had the time._

* * *

_Meanwhile, at 11:00…_

"But Mr. Terwillijer," Cletus pronounced the name incorrectly again, "we wuz havin' fun!"

"Dynamite isn't meant to be played with! It causes damage, which I have no money to repair! After the last time I built a dam, nobody trusts me with money yet, so building funds are low. Do you understand?"

Cletus looked at him blankly. Cecil was about to rip his head off before the supervisor of the crew came running up. She was panting, and had to catch her breath before finally saying, "I'm sorry, Mr. Terwilliger. One of them locked me in a closet, and apparently no one heard me yelling. What are the charges?"

"They were _playing_," he spat out the word, "with dynamite. If I hadn't come just as I did, then the dam would be in ruins. Please take care not to trust any of these people when it comes to closets and explosives, *Miss Jordison. Now if you shall excuse me, I will be in my office writing a letter asking for better employees." **(*- Nakita Jordison belongs to Salverto's You're Not Here)**

He went into the office, locking the door from the inside. Going straight to the desk, Cecil took out the blue prints and tried to study. His mind wouldn't concentrate on it, though. No matter what, his mind always came back to the event.

Tomorrow was the five year anniversary. The sad fifth year reminder of Maris and Neil. Normally, he'd take the day off and leave the employees to Nakita, the poor girl, to go to the house first, and then the graveyard. But if he took tomorrow off, then wouldn't everybody expect him to bring Maggie? Or could he get away with just—no, if Maggie was now his daughter, then she would be expected to be with him to see Them.

Oh well. Maybe he could just slip out without anybody noticing….

* * *

_Meanwhile, at the Library, 2:50 PM_

"Where would this go?"

"Top shelf, next to Volumes one and three. No, in-between! It's volume two, not six! Here, let me," Bob took the book out of the old woman's hands and put it on the right shelf.

"Oh. Thank you, it's getting harder and harder to see these days." She nodded a thanks and left.

He sighed again and turned towards Gino. "How are you doing?"

Gino had seated himself behind the desk, and was doodling with a pen. "It's rather a bore, but I find it ignorant that she didn't know the difference between two and six."

"Well, nobody out here is as bright as the people in Italy, nor did it help that she was older. Don't worry, someday we will leave this wretched town and go places."

"I hope someday soon. So, when is our shift over?"

"About…" he checked the clock, "another two hours. Since almost nobody comes in here we'll be able to slip out early."

"Mmm," Gino went back to doodling.

* * *

_Ok, back to Maggie and Francesca, 3:00 PM_

"OK, black or white?"

Maggie pointed to the black.

"I like it too. It suits both of us." She put the shirt over her arm and walked up to the checkout line. "Now you have more than three outfits. Even if it's just another shirt, we can start by creating more choices."

Now home, they both sat down and turned on the TV. "I know that it can waste the brain to nothing, but this is just for a few minutes. We don't wish to watch too much, however." The movie that they had turned onto was Practical Magic, a film familiar to none of them. Though Maggie did recall seeing a part of it with Lisa.

Soon though, they had to turn it off due to it being ten minutes before everybody got home.

"Well, what to do… oh! Have you heard any Shakespeare? I know that your sister might have introduced you, but it could be a great way to pass time!" Francesca took out her copy of Hamlet, set Maggie on her lap, and began to read out loud.

* * *

_My Hands Are Getting Tired Now…_

"Is it time to go yet?"

"I'm signing off right now, Gino."

* * *

_I'll just be writing the names, because this is annoying now_

Cecil checked his watch. Seeing it was time, he said into the microphone, "It is now 5 o'clock. All employees please leave the premises or you will be charged for trespassing after 5:30. If you are here after 9:30, then you will be shot where you stand." He picked up the briefcase and left the office.

* * *

_The House_

_(That's easier…I'll just say where we are, and with what people.)_

Cecil unlocked the door and walked in. Francesca and Maggie were reading Hamlet, and didn't seem to notice his presence. Nothing unusual here.

He said out loud, "How has your day gone?"

A smile and a wave from Maggie told him all that needed to be said. She had on another black shirt, a different design than the other one. Now realizing he was here, Francesca stopped reading and looked up.

"Oh, sorry, I didn't see you."

"It's fine. You went to the store?" he motioned to the shirt.

"It was cheap. Paychecks have come in, and we're well off with food. And since she only has three shirts, I figured I'd buy another, even if it is only one."

"How much do we have left from them then? You didn't use mine, did you?" If she did, it would have been bad. Or, more so offensive. THAT would prove he was Mr. Cellophane*.

"No! Che cosa mi hai preso per te scusa stupida per un ingegnere! Se voi uomini non la ottiene nessun vestito, poi si finirà per indossare stracci come Cenerentola per il resto della sua vita!" **

Cecil backed away. He didn't know what she was saying since he understood little Italian, but knew enough to know that she was ticked off.

He went into his room, walking backwards to keep an eye on her fists. She sat back down and began reading again. After cursing him out pretty well with words _he_ didn't know existed. Maggie had slid to the end of the couch, and reluctantly slid back beside Francesca.

Several minutes later, he heard Bob and Gino come home. _I bet she__'__ll notice-_

"Come è andata la giornata, cara?"

"Lenta e dolorosa."***

_-him. _*sigh*

He picked up the picture of them again. _Dear_ God_, it hurts. And when we were all together, I wasn__'__t Mr. Cellophane. Hmm. Gino__'__s rather like Neil, isn__'__t he?_

That night was full of nightmares that couldn't be awoken from.

* * *

_Oh, so _now_ we're done with the whole setting thing. I don't get payed anything to do this, but you just _had_ to stop as soon as I found the easy way out._

* * *

**A lot of lines, I know. **

***-Mr. Cellophane is from Chicago. Rights do NOT belong to me. Yes, I am serious about copyright issues.  
**

****- ****No! What do you take me for you stupid excuse for an engineer?! If you men won't get her any clothes, then she will end up wearing rags like Cinderella for the rest of her life!**

*****- **"**How ****was your day****, ****dear****?"****  
****"****Slow and ****painful****."**


	7. So That's Who!

_The Next Day, at Breakfast..._

"Why are you dressed like that? Do you not need to go to work?" Francesca asked as Cecil rushed past her.

He had on the usual sweater vest, except this one had a big black spot, like something burnt it, on the shoulders, entire backside, and several spotches on the front.

"Today is a very special day, and I need to honor it," he said, now running out the door with Maggie, who was dressed in her black shirt that hung down to the knees. Since nobody knew where her banndanna was, they curled her hair, making it look similar to Bob's.

It was currently 9:00. He slowed down when he reached the car. Climbing in, Cecil said, "Sorry for the rush, but I wanted to get out of there before any questions were asked. But seriously, behave yourself today. We are going to visit two very dear people, and they deserve the respect they've earned. Do you understand?"

Maggie nodded. Maybe they were the woman and child she had seen in that picture.

The first stop was the Kwiki-Mart, where Cecil came back with three thornless roses in one hand, and a big bouquet of flowers in the other.

_It must be the lady and boy. I wonder what happened?_

The next stop was on the other side of town, down a private driveway. The house itself was blocked from veiw by several trees, but what Maggie saw was clear. On the brim, just as her veiw of the house was covered, the ground was charred and black. On two of the very tips of the trees, they were dead and charred as well.

Cecil picked up the roses and got out. "Please don't try to get out and see, it's a very ugly sight." He got out and began to walk around the trees. Maggie lost sight of him.

The house looked much worse than he remembered. Stepping over charred wood pieces, or whatever they were, he arrived to where he thought the wooden beam had fallen. He left the roses there.

" I'm sorry that Marge isn't here with me this year, but...well, you know. The third rose is for her, since we were all so close back then. Speaking of Marge, Maggie's doing great. But she can't talk, so I don't even know what the murderer looks like. I wouldn't even ask if we weren't friends as kids, but I want to know who killed you. All of you.

"Marge, I know that we haven't spoken too much since the fire, except on the anniversary and when I'm trying to kill your children, but I need your help. If not to help me, then for your only daughter who's alive. Who killed you? Why didn't he—o-or she—kill Maggie? Will he come back?" With that, he got up and went back to the car.

Maggie had got up and took a daisey from the bouquet, and was now plucking the petals. She immediatly put it back as soon as she saw Cecil. He didn't have the roses with him.

Now, the final stop. They were now at the cemetary. It was 4x4 acres, and rather flat. It was almost an optical allusion; to the naked eye the graveyard looked _huge_.

Both got out at the same time. "No, no. Please Margret, stay in the car."

_Like I'm gonna stay in there for an hour? It's a hundred degrees out, from just staying in there for five minutes I felt like melting!_

She shook her head no.

"*Sigh* Fine. Just roam around free. Please don't follow me though, I wish to be alone for this." They both went opposite ways.

She pretended that ghosts were racing her up and down the long line of gravestones.

He went to row three, the first two gravestones to the right.

* * *

Here Lies Here Lies

Maris N. Terwilliger Neil C. Terwilliger

Born: 1968 Born: 1997

Died: 2003 Died: 2003

* * *

Splitting the bouquet in half, or as close as he could get it, Cecil put them in front of the gravestones.

"I'm sorry, but these were the only flowers that you _didn't_ make fun of, or say is too boorish. And I told you this from the house, but Marge should be up there with her family. Except for Maggie. But I swear, if Bob hadn't pulled off that one when I wasn't there, then I wouldn't have taken her— I mean, I would have said that she was adopted, or that she was Bob's, or something like that."

Maggie had grown tired of racing nonexistent ghosts and decided to stay by Cecil, despite what he said. Well, the car wasn't a choice, it must be over a hundred degrees inside! And being inside a graveyard, it probably wasn't the best thing to go around screaming at the top of her lungs. Or to scare passerbies (though that _would_ be fun...)

She tuned in on his conversation, "...I should have done something more, I know I should have," she peeked at him over the top of the gravestone. He was on his knees, in front of two markers. "but when that beam fell, even if I had been able to get over it, all three of us would have died getting back over it. And the other beam fell too quickly, too fast-" his voice broke. "It was Tom's fault. Oh, _dammit_, it was Tom's fault!" The last part came out as a shaky whisper, as a single tear rolled down his face.

* * *

**For those who don't know: Tom is my OC in _Life_. A short summary in the next installment if you haven't read that part yet.**


	8. Biologically, Yes She Is

_If you have not read _Age 29_ in my fic _Life_, then feel free to read this short-ish summary of it. If you have, then either refresh your memory or skip ahead._

_Five years ago today, a fire started in their house while Cecil was getting medicine for his sick son, Neil. When he came back, the house was in flames. As he was running in, Cecil saw a jail-escapee—that had already threatened Neil's life—walking away with two henchmen, one of which was wounded. They stared at each other, __contemplating __war. Cecil instead chose to save his family. He ran inside, and found the two in the kitchen. Just as he took a step forward, they were trapped by a fallen beam, leaving no way out. As Cecil tried to find another way out, another beam fell, this time landing right on top of Maris and Neil._ _Tom Vinne—the murderer—had been seen in jail when Cecil got in, but he was transferred and hasn't been seen since._

_Marge offered Cecil to stay with her and the children. Homer already hated him, and they all had an argument that would be settled between husband and wife that night. Feeling sick, Cecil stayed, waiting for the feeling to pass. He heard the arguement between them, that ended with Homer wooing Marge to his every word. From our little situation right now, what do you think he did? _

* * *

The memory finished with that one thought, the most painful memory. Marge never even contacted him again. And after that one night, the only good thing that happened to him was the promotion to cheif hydrological and hydrodynamical engineer. OK, and when he made up with Robert before his fake funeral. That felt really good to get off his back after all these years. And perhalps meeting young Lisa again when he attempted to murder her and Bart.

But besides those two things though, his life had gone downhill ever since then. And considering the fact that his closest friends were jailbirds, that basically made life a living hell.

A sob echoed through the graveyard, and Cecil put his head in his hands. He couldn't stop the tears that began to roll down his face.

Maggie saw Cecil put his head in his hands. _I guess life _has_ been cruel to him. Though he deserved to go to jail for trying to kill the town. But when you take away a man's family he doesn't have anything but a job and the clothes on his back._

She went up to him. Looking at him now, she couldn't see any harm he could bring.

"Mm?" she shook his leg. Taking a bold step, she took off her shoes and laid them next to a marker.

* * *

It was the first time he had cried in five years. He didn't do it when he and Marge got together to woe on the one-year anniversary, or anytime in jail. He had played it straight all these years, switching a sarcastic flip on everything that made him feel any sort of emotion. Of course, it had to end if he were to have a place to live. The apartment wasn't going to be payed for entirely by Bob, and his family couldn't handle a few "constructive criticisms" around the house. But they were right, he hid behind that switch. He always has. A little sarcasm here and there through his childhood wasn't so bad. But it was after the fire that things got-

Maggie was hugging him. He sniffed, and hugged her back. They stayed like this until he realized how long they had been there. He picked her and the shoes up, and they both got into the hundred degree car.

"One last stop, and then we can go home. I need to check something, something that just occured to me that needs to be fixed."

They drove to the doctor's office. A nurse was at the front desk, reading a _Times Magazine_. She only looked up when she saw Cecil holding Maggie out of the corner of her eye.

"May I help you?" she said in a nasal tone.

"I'd like to see Dr. Hibbert as soon as possible."

"Go right in."

"But don't I need to make an appointment?"

"Look around you. Are there any lines you need to wait in?"

The office was empty. Literally nobody was in there except for them and a fern.

"Well, why isn't-"

"Since the Simpsons died, nobody's been hurt! Well, there have been a few cases, but not as many as when Homer and Bart were still around. Go right in, hun."

"Thank you," he said, walking into Dr. Hibbert's office. Cecil's face lit up at the sight of his old friend.

Inside, he was going through several old files. "It's right here," the Dr. Said, sliding the files across the desk to the two.

"I'll go through them in a few minutes. As for now, I need you to help me with something, and I need you to keep it between the three of us." He sat down, putting Maggie on his lap.

Dr. Hibbert looked at Maggie, and back at Cecil. "I know about her. When Robert introduced her to the town at the funeral, I knew that she wasn't your biological daughter, you aren't really into hookers, and I knew that you didn't have enough money to adopt, much less the _guts_ after the fire. So I did some digging of my own," he pulled out a drawer from the desk, and took out a small file with four pages inside, "and these are my results."

He opened the first file, and took out the first page. "This is Neil's DNA stream," he then opened the second one, "and this is Maggie Simpson's. Now, of course the DNA won't match exactly, but if she were your daughter, then she and Neil will have the same codes you and Maris would. I need to see _her_ DNA to prove this fact," he motioned to Maggie, "however, even a thumbprint, and "Maria's" doesn't exist. And I took a good look at all of the bodies. Margret Simpson was not a plastic doll."

The silence seemed to hang in the air for hours. Finally, Cecil said, "You're going to give us up to the police, aren't you?"

"What happened?"

"Bob was the first to find them, all dead in their beds except for her. Finding he couldn't kill her, he took her home to us. None of us could kill a baby, and if one of us were to bring her to an orphanage, then we'd be sentenced for life. You know, because she was found dead, we have her . . . ."

"Yes, yes. So why did you leave behind the doll?"

"Well, if we were to be found with a missing baby whose entire family is dead, and we are the people who have threatened their lives numerous times, do you think it would be smart to leave behind nothing at all?"

No words needed to be said. "How do I know that you didn't kill them?"

"Think about it. Have we _ever_ succeeded in doing _any_ harm to that family? Something always pops up and saves them from dying."

"Well, twenty-five failed plots to kill them to one. A heh-heh-heh, even if you did suceed, with your luck all of you would have been framed and sent to jail!"

"Yes, yes. But you must swear Dr. Hibbert, never tell anybody this. If word got out..."

"Oh, I know. Now, do you want to- wait a moment," he put both DNA codes along side each other. "They-they have the same codes. I mean, not the exact same, but... Maggie and Neil are brother and sister!"

"_What?!" _Cecil grabbed the files and looked. Since he was raised with a doctor for a father, he saw the similarities in the two. "But how can that be? Marge and I were only friends, and we _never_ had a-a thing... together." He blushed.

"Hmmm... then I suppose it's time I tell you."

"Oh God, what now?"

"Marge and Homer were well off with their lives. You and Maris were well off with yours. And, well," he began to laugh nerviously, "this was when both women were pregnant, Marge with her second child, Maris with her first. You know that Lisa and Neil were the same age, right? Like, same week? Well, we, um..."

"You what?" he was getting tired of being surprised by now, and wanted it to just come out now.

"You know how both of you wanted it to be a surprise when the baby came out? Well, uh...it was bab_ies_."

Cecil and Maggie's mouth dropped.

"But...then how...?"

"Lisa and Neil were twins. Somehow, Maris and Marge's children were switched at birth. Since you weren't allowed inside the room back then, you parents never knew. Marge's baby had died at birth, but she didn't know that yet, because she and Lisa were switched. Maris thought that it was her other baby that died, and didn't tell you. We figured out the switch when Dr. Nick was charged with switching babies at birth (accident of course) and using a fork to opperate.

"The second time around, you and Maris weren't doing good for yourselves. She got pregnant again, but couldn't afford the baby. And, not believing in abortion, she and Marge were close, and...let me stick with this: Marge didn't know that she and Homer would, uh . . . oooh, the eggs were fertilized, OK? Marge was already pregnant when the fire happened, and I guess she just didn't tell you."

"So I tried to kill my daughter God-knows-how-many-times? And my brother has tried to kill both of them twenty-five times? And _you_ knew all about this?"

"Yes, that's exactly what I'm saying," Dr. Hibbert leaned back in his chair, expecting a slow yet steady stream of scolding to come out.

Instead, Maggie pointed and said, "Real Daddy."

This only increased the shock for Cecil. His jaw was still dropped, and eyes still widened.

"Uh, your real daughter just said her first words." The Dr. sighed and leaned forward in his chair, reaching across the desk. He pushed Cecil's chin up, shutting his mouth.

Shaking his head, Cecil said again in the same shocked tone, "_What?!_"

"Daddy," Maggie said again, poking him in the ribs.

"And you don't think I'd have wanted to know any of this?!"

"Well, by the time we realized that Lisa was yours, she was four. She loved her family, and they loved her. If I told Marge that her real second-born died at birth and that Lisa was Maris's, what do you think that would have turned into between the families? And you didn't need to know about Maggie, she had a loving family who sacrificed a lot to keep her. Would you take that away from them just so you would do the same thing?"

"_Damn_," Cecil leaned back in his chair and put his hands over his face. "Well, I guess I haven't been lying to the entire town now. If I may, I'd like to see the files now."

"Of course. If it would make things easier, I'd like to read them out loud, since Maris helped me through a rough patch. And from what your reaction just was, you need to take things easily."

"Of course," he knew that this was just a way for Dr. Hibbert to pass time. He, Marge and the Dr. were the only ones who cared about Maris and Neil after death. Before, there was nobody in Springfeild who didn't know both families. Actually, who didn't? An assistant for Krusty the Clown, and a related family who always helped everybody in need. At least, before the Simpsons took the title, after Maris and Neil died.

Dr. Hibbert opened the files, revealing pictires for each of them. What Neil looked like before he was born, Maris, Cecil and Marge as kids, Neil's expression when he tried his first slice of cheescake. All of these the doctor had because Maris helped him with his marriage. And, for the finale, he didn't charge Cecil for being there.

They left around five, the same time everyone usually gets home. "Well, that was a sad but memorable day."

"How old was I?" Maggie asked from the backseat.

"When?"

"When we had their funeral."

"I don't think you were born yet, but I never really had the chance to meet your siblings." Suddenly, he realized that she was talking. He swirved the car a little, and said, "How long have you been able to talk?! And with perfect pronounciation!"

"I don't know. A few months? Nobody ever pays attention to me, so I figured that it wasn't worth it."

"But...Lisa was the one who never got any attention! I figured you and Bart got all of it!"

"Did you even know me before my two dead siblings? Please. Bart and Lisa get all of the attention, momma just held me wherever we went."

"Well, now it's different. And now you can finally describe the man who killed them!"

Maggie looked down. "Can we wait until we get home?"

"Of course. Just tell me if you knew him or not."

"I _think_ so, but I'm not sure. But I know that he occurs every night in my nightmares."

They rushed home, where everybody was in the middle of dinner. Francesca began the scolding.

"Where the _hell_ have you been?! I tried calling you at the dam, but they said you had important work to take care of! And you went out in those old rags which you will change out of _right now_!"

"Daddy wore it because he wore it in a fire which was five years ago today."

"Daddy? Fire? She can _talk_? How did you get her to do _that_?" Bob had been trying to get Maggie to talk the entire week, seeing that she was a year old, and Gino had said his first _sentence_ at a few months into life.

"A very, very long story."

"We have the time," Francesca crossed her arms.

"Very well, then."

He sat down where his plate full of cold food was, and went into detail of everything that he had learned today. Maggie helped with some of her side of the story, too. They ended with, "and she can now tell us what the murderer looked like!"

Gino perked up when he heard that. "If we do find him, can I be the one to kill him?"

"But I wanna do it!" Maggie protested.

"Hey, _I'm_ the one who came to kill your family! _I_ am to be the one who kills the reall murderer."

"Yes Sir."

"Yes papa."

"And we don't even know who this man is," he looked at Maggie. They all did.

She gulped and started her story of that night, up to when Bob entered her room. The Terwilligers were silent.

Finally, Bob said cooly, "That's impossible. Frank Grimes is dead, and his son is still in jail. I saw him get arrested, saving your father."

"But it was him! I know it was! He came into my room and...well..." she saw it was no use. They didn't believe her, and she found it hard to believe herself. But Frank was the person she saw. There was no mistake, when he came to their house you could see that he wasn't one to mix with other men. And Maggie knew she saw his glasses, recognized the voice.

The question is, however, why didn't he kill her?

* * *

Maggie had slumped off to her room, and the others were currently talking it over.

"I don't know, she's always told—er, shown the truth before."

"Cecil, I was there when Junior, his son, was arrested. I heard him say that his father was dead, he was electrecuted. There were even witnesses, and a funeral."

"What happened to the son?"

"Arrested, tried to escape when *Homer and I were incarnated and were trying to escape,* was put in an underground cell at top security."

"When was that?" Gino looked up.

"Before you were born. Gosh, before I even thought of going to Italy."

"I'm going to go to bed. It's been a long, exhausting day." Cecil got up. It _had_ been though. Every anniversary was tiring, but finding out you had a daughter that your brother has tried to murder numerous times was pushing the limits.

**Whoa. I just realized how long that was. Also: I claim copyright for the first fic with Maggie and Cecil. You never really see them together in anything, so. Woo-hoo.**

**And if you have any comments about the whole biological daughter thing, then tell me why you think it's a problem/ like it. I know it's weird, but please.**

***—It was a comic, when Homer was put into the same jail-cell as Bob. I can't recall the name for the life of me, and I can't find the title anywhere online. **


	9. He Is

It was a little past eleven when Cecil decided he couldn't go to sleep. He got up, planning to go into the den and try to read there. But Maggie's light was on.

He sighed, opening the door. She was lying on her stomach, her head beneath the pillows. Before he turned off the light, Cecil uncovered her head. They both gasped as she sat up.

"I am so sorry to wake you," he set the pillow down; "I'll just be on my way." Just as he was turning, Cecil saw Maggie's eyes. They were red. "Are you alright? Do you need anything?"

She sniffed. "No." She said this in a defensive way, that way that usually means she's lying to herself.

He sat down beside her. "Did I wake you, or were you up?"

"I've been up."

He picked her up, lay down in her spot, and laid her on his chest. "We hurt you, didn't we?"

"I know what I saw. I never said I believed it myself, but it's what I saw."

"Well, no matter what, he hasn't been back and he won't be. It's already been too long, if he's going to attack, he plans on doing so when we least suspect it. Just stay on your toes and you'll be alright." The realization of what he just said dawned on him when Maggie's expression turned from misery to fear. "Uh, I…mean he won't attack when we are here with you."

"But what if you're not?"She looked at him, "What will I do if he gets me?"

He smiled sadly. "You will never be alone, Maggie. Not while I'm around."

"But if you have to go, like if the dummies who work for you do something _really_ bad-"

"I'll bring you with me. Or have," he started laughing, "your aunt and uncle take care of you."

Maggie grinned. "And my cousin."

"Or your father can bring you with him."

Her smile faded. "I still think they wuh my real family. I love you, but you and Bob tried to kill us. Can we go slowly? Get to know each other befoah call each other father and daughter?"

"Once again, it was Bob who tried to kill you all! I had nothing to do with _you_. I tried to kill my brother, your brother, and your sister. And considered killing your father several times before our families were sworn enemies. And your mother the night we were announced sworn enemies.* But I agree. We are not father and daughter until we have a bond." (_**Life**_**)**

"W-what?"

"Our families had a history before _Sideshow_ Bob and Bart." He drew sideshow out, loathing the word. "Anyway, it's not important. We should probably get to sleep, it's quite late," He started to sit up.

"Wait! Please don't go."

Cecil laid back down. "What?"

"Can you stay in here with me? Please?"

"Why?"

"Cause."

"Cause why?"

"Cause I asked so."

He smiled. "Well . . . I have another day off tomorrow. If you wish." He turned off the light.

* * *

6:00 AM

Frank Grimes had indeed been dead. But no more! This blessing had allowed him to take revenge against his enemies _and_ make a destiny come true. The only curse was he couldn't go out in public without people recognizing his features, and then everything would be ruined. But from what the damned Master had said, he was to terrorize Margret Simpson.

The first plan had back-fired, he didn't know that the criminal would be there to save her. If he could've done it, and if Master hadn't yelled at him not to, he would most definatly have struck the child in the wrist to bleed slowly to death.

Now going over it, Grimes figured he would never have thought about killing a baby when he was alive, no matter what, but Master had made it clear what was to happen.

And, ever since he had come back to this hell-hole, all that Grimes had wanted to do was kill. To take a man in the power plant and cut his face off. To take the hooker he had created Jr. with and do it again. But his options were limited. It was either do this job for the bastard that brought him back, or go to hell. Master could easily replace him with another lowlife from the grave.

But it was unfair. He had to do this job for that twisted son of a—no. Master had said he could hear his thoughts. But while he was complaining, he couldn't call Master by his real name—only _master_. It got annoying after a few weeks. Hell, it was annoying being alive again; he liked heaven. He wanted to go back; earth was no place for him anymore. Grimes hadn't been too religious when he was alive (what his childhood was like wasn't exactly what he thanked anyone for), but he believed the dead weren't supposed to be back on earth again.

Especially for this purpose.

It was now or never. Time to kill this family that kid had made for herself. But not in daylight. Everybody could see him, and the plan would be screwed.

_Have to do this at night_.

He creeped back into the shadows, waiting in the bush in the back. Then, when nobody was looking, Frank Grimes sprinted across the street into another back yard. He checked to make sure nobody was looking, and slipped inside.

Home sweet home.

* * *

**Alright, alright, Grimes did it. But now there's a new mystery: who's the master?**

**And for mr. sandwitch: if you have read the other chapters, you can tell Maggie didn't do it. Especially from this chapter, if you're reading it. I'm not trying to be mean, but I wouldn't put that big a twist on a story unless it was a Treehouse of Horror. Technically, this is just a Halloween thriller, not a THOH.**

**I don't know, I think this is too long to be one.**


	10. Day Before Night

Noon

It was Saturday. And, as unfortunate as it was, Francesca was the one who decided sleeping in until noon was too long. She opened the door to Cecil's room, and "awed."

Maggie was asleep in his arms, lying beside her father. _Biological _father. Francesca still couldn't believe she was an aunt! Cecil had one arm wrapped around the baby, the other cradling her head to his chest. Francesca almost felt guilty about waking them. And, technically, it _was_ his day off . . .

She slipped back out, leaving them. The house was eerily silent, now that Roberto and Gino had left. She decided to ready their lunch for when they woke.

* * *

Cecil awoke with a yawn, rubbing his eyes. Maggie stirred with the pressure taken off.

_So peaceful._

He got up without waking her, and went out to the dining/living room. Francesca was there, setting out food.

"Shouldn't it be breakfast?"

"Well, you slept in until over noon, so I assumed it was lunch time."

"Oh. What's for lunch then?"

"Whatever's on the table."

He smiled sweetly. "It's nice to know my sister-in-law loves me so."

She started walking into the kitchen and called over her shoulder, "Bite me!"

He smirked. Their relationship worked in a strange way. He sat down, choosing food.

Maggie came out, yawning.

"Good afternoon, sunshine."

"Bite me." She sat down, getting a plate.

"Jeez, both of you women love me today."

Francesca came back in, smiling, "Screw you."

"Watch your language in front of the baby!"

Maggie spat out her food. "I'm not a baby! I'm five years old!"

Both adults spat out their food. "_WHAT?!_"

(**I'm sorry to keep throwing these things at you, but a friend and I found some issues with the ages that are too big to not be dealt with. Aside from the whole "Frank Grimes **_**is**_** alive" thing. But this is a Halloween thriller, and ages need to be fixed. Explanation below: )**

"Oh. You thought I was one. Well, if I were, how could Gino be older than me if _I_ were born first? And how could I be one if Maris and Neil died _five years_ ago, and Mo—Marge had me about a year after? And I can't stay a baby forever, you know. Sooner or later I have to age."*****

"O-oh."

"Si, that would indeed make sense." She turned to Cecil, "How did you not think of that?"

"Why didn't you?"

"Because I have lost track of the year from prison."

"That isn't any kind of excuse!"

"It's good enough for you! Why, what would _I_ know? I'm not from here."

"I have _never_ used that against you! Snake and Mother used that once two years ago, and our lives have been a living hell since!" He threw up his hands.

"Oh, go cry about your family!"

He gasped. "You do _not_ talk about Maris and Neil that way!"

"And you shouldn't tell Gino Bart Simpson is back to haunt him!"

Maggie sighed, grabbed her plateful of food, and went to her room.

* * *

_Finally, NOW I get to be lazy:_

_1:37 PM, Library_

"No no no, that is NOT for smoking! It would be much appreciated if you stop smoking our library books, Mr. Simpson!"

Abe Simpson threw his hands in the air. "Well, cigarettes cost $7.97 at the store! Why, I can still remember when they were simply handed out on the street by Teddy Roosevelt to young kids. He'd tell us, "watch your step, you buncha' ungrateful heathens! I'm trying to walk here!" Why can't _you_ be Teddy Roosevelt? I'm still in denial about my entire family's murder, thank you very much! First I lost my true love on her _birthday_, then Homer's mother, then I lost that stray dog nobody else saw, and then my entire family crumbled right under my nose!"

Bob stood there, listening patiently. He had to when he was being elected for the mayor here, and now he just felt it proper to listen to a broken-hearted old man's losses.

"-And then Homer appeared in one dream, and we shared chicken wings. Then, in another, Bart appeared and lit my shoes on fire. Lisa put em' out—she was always the smart-ass one. And then, just last night," He put his hands on Bob's shoulders, "Marge came to warn _you_."

"Er—what now?"

Abe's eyes were wide when he told Bob this, "She said to tell you that Frank Grimes is the living dead! To warn you about your family, they're in terrible danger!" His eyes went back to normal size, "And somethin' about blood being shed on your hands, and something about a master. Oh, and then she warned me about after I tell you this and leave the library, I'd step in dog leavings."

"Umm . . ." Bob took Abe's hands off and stepped back. "Sir, are you on some sort of medication? Or are you just crazy?"

"A little from column A, a little from column B. She also told me that if you didn't believe me, I should walk outside. So have a nice day!"

Bob shuddered, and went to the front desk to check on Gino. Suddenly, he heard a cry from outside:

"Damn dogs! Why doesn't anyone pick up their crap?! Now I'll have ta' get my shoes wet and wash them off with the hose."

Bob raised an eye, but said nothing. The man had lost whatever sense he had left when his family died; what he said meant nothing. Bob understood that. It happened to Cecil, obviously. The man was psycho as Abe, possibly more. Always plotting new ways to kill Lisa, trying to get Bob in trouble with the prison guards, fighting him for the top bunk . . . . psycho.

* * *

"Oh, Cecil. Where _did_ the good days go?" Francesca took another sip of wine.

He giggled. "I dunno. _My_ good days went as soon as my wife and son died in that fire." He finished his glass, and poured himself another.

"My good days went as soon as the Simpsons exposed my Roberto. Poor Roberto . . ."

He spit-took the wine. "_Poor Roberto?! _Do you realize what he did to me when we were kids?!"

"No, but I know what he did to _me_ in the bedroom . . . and how h-*hiccup* he's raised Gino."

"Oh. Well, I've heard from several women around here about how good a father he is . . . or was it about the bedroom thing? No," He grinned lop-sided, "it _was_ the father thingie. He isn't _that_ good with *hic* women."

"You should see him in the bedroom . . . with Gino. They always have so much fun playing with actual childhood _toys_, not knives. Gino has re-disovered his child side, and your daughter has helped him much with that. My son _isn't_ going to be a homicidal maniac when he grows up! Do you think that is actually a career choice?"

Cecil sighed, picking up a knife. "You know what? You're my sister-in-law. We're family, we have a thing."

"I suppose. *_hic_* I trusted you with Gino when we were seperated in prison."

"Exactly. See? So I can trust you with this. Before I met Maggie, like, before Bob brought him—er, _her_ here, I used to think about cutting me out of your misery . . ."

Francesca gasped.

"Just going into the attic and killing those damn rats. Making use out of myself."

She sighed with relief. "You know-a what? I thought you were going to say you were going to kill yourself!"

"Huh? No, I stopped considering suicide when we got out of jail."

"Oh. You were sad in jail?"

"Not just sad, I was _mad_." He began to giggle uncontrolably. "I made a funny rhyme!"

She began to laugh too. "You laugh very strangly! It is like you are being tickled."

He stopped. "No, I'm just drunk as hell. But I *hic* am sensitive." He chuckled.

She set down her glass. "We are going to go out very fast after this."

"Out the window?"

"To sleep." She grinned, jamming her fingers into Cecil's side.

He yelped, and jumped off the chair. "Don't do that! I'm *hic* ticklish and drunk!"

Laughter erupted from his throat as her delicate fingers wiggled their way through his ribs and belly and tickled him until he couldn't breath or think straight. He collapsed on the floor, a giggling mess.

Maggie came out holding an empty water cup. She stopped, staring at the sight before her. "Uh . . ."

_Keep walking. Not too close._

She walked past them to the kitchen.

_They drunk or something?_

When Maggie came back, she smiled and said, "His sensitive area's under the pits." And she went into the bedroom.

* * *

"Papa?"

Gino spun past Bob on the wheeled plush chair.

"Papa?" He spun back.

"Papaaaaa?" He spun back again.

"Yes, Gino?" Bob set down the book he was reading.

"When are we leaving?"

"You know, if you hate it here, then don't come with me. We leave in another two—scratch that. It's our lunch break, you can stay home if you like. We need to go there anyway."

"Very much, si."

* * *

Bob carried Gino through the front door, stopping as soon as they saw Francesca and Cecil.

"Uh. Francesca? Cecil?!"

Francesca was no longer tickling Cecil, but was reading to him. He had his head on her lap. They were reading _The Blackstone Chronicles_ by John Saul. Something Bob didn't think either one of them would ever read, much less _own_.

They looked up. Francesca grinned, and got up, swaying as she walked. "Roberto! *hic*" She draped her arm around his shoulders, giving him a kiss on the cheek.

Cecil got up, chuckling and trying not to fall. "Roberto! *hic* Bobby!"

Bob cocked an eye. "Are you two _drunk_?"

"As hell." They said together.

He let Gino down, "Yes . . . Gino, go play with-"

Francesca kissed him on the lips as Maggie came in and saw them. She shrugged, grabbed Gino by the shoulders, and kissed him on the lips.

The poor boy, since this was his first kiss, had no idea how to respond. He didn't have to, Bob peeled himself off of Francesca and pulled the toddlers apart.

"Oh, really now! We aren't in _Shelbyville,_ you two!"

"Cecil and Auntie Francesca are drunk!" Maggie accused.

"Yes, we've established-" Francesca kissed him again. He pulled back, "Will you stop kissing me?! This isn't-"

_Cecil_ kissed him. He pulled back, leaving Bob paralized. Cecil shrugged. "Eh. Not as good as Maris was. You didn't kiss back, that's your problem." He swayed into his bedroom, shutting the door and giggling.

Bob started sputtering, and ran into the kitchen to rinse out his mouth. Maggie and Gino went into her room. Francesca passed out on the couch.

* * *

**I know, I'm wrong. But this was fun to write out, so . . . don't judge me!**

***- Yeah Simpsons producers! Bart has passed the fourth grade six times already (or three), each child has had at least two birthdays by now, and they won't keep Homer and Marge's ages straight! By now, officially, everyone should be around twenty/thirty years old, and it drives you insane when you're wrting a story about this!**


	11. Night- Casual Kidnapping

_1:39 PM_

Fifteen minutes of soap and water later, Bob got out of the kitchen, still shuddering. He saw Francesca on the couch.

_How many did they drink? It takes a lot for either of them to get drunk easily . . ._

His question was answered on the table. From the contents on there, Francesca had shown Cecil a Screwdriver.

_She is _**never**_ afraid of the screw, is she?_

Or he had shown her a few tricks he learned from years of collecting wine, making the title of "Dionysus." Even Bob had to admit—and he moved to Italy, the town drunk _was_ two—Cecil was obsessed with wine. He had even asked in prison if he could keep a wine cellar in the jail cell (request denied). The unnatural obsession came in a triple package with France and bubble-wrap.

Bob stepped past her, steered clear of Cecil's room, and poked his head into Maggie's room.

_Kiss MY son, will you?!_

They were throwing darts into a picture of Mr. Burns. They stopped when he came in.

"Erm…Maggie, when those two were…ah…" He didn't want to be the one to tell her what drinking was when she was five.

"When they were wasted? What about it?" She threw and dart into the nose.

"Yes. They didn't hurt you in any way, did they? Or even tell you something…bad?"

"No. I stayed in my room. Though when I ran out of water and came out, Francesca was tickling Cecil. I don't think he liked it too much, does that count?"

"No. And aside from that, you didn't interact with one another? Or—answer this for me. Why did they start drinking?" Curiosity got the better of him.

"I dunno . . . I went to my room because they were fighting." She turned to Gino, "And Gino? Bart isn't back to haunt you. Cecil just told you that because he didn't want you to interrupt his _Young and the Restless_ soap opera quiet-time."

He sighed in relief and hugged her. "Graci!"

Bob went into the room all the way. "What were they fighting about?"

"I think something about Maris and Neil. And then racism or something like it. I don't remember anything after that."

"And they didn't hurt you in any way, shape or form?"

"No sir." She smiled. No-one in the Simpson household _ever_ asked that question after Homer got drunk, they just went along with whatever he did. And whenever Bart was choked, no-one ever really cared that much to ask him if he was alright, Marge didn't do anything except stop it.

Sometimes.*

"Alright then. Gino? You're fine?"

"Yes, papa. Perfecto."

"Are you sure?"

"Yes, Papa. I was not there when it happened."

"Alright. If you see Cecil, tell him to stay away from me for . . . oh . . . a couple of weeks. Maybe years."

"Yes sir," They both saluted him.

He left the room, shutting the door behind him. Francesca stirred on the couch, but didn't move. He sighed and picked up the pack of cards. There were times The Bard couldn't fix, as improbable as it sounded. Cards seemed more relaxing somehow right now, and Bob wasn't hungry.

However, thirst was different. He fixed a cup of tea and settled down at the table as Francesca sat up with a moan.

"Mmmm?" She rubbed her temples.

"Good afternoon, dearest. I hope you enjoyed your drunken mishaps."

"Neh. What time is it?" She flopped back down, covering her eyes.

"Almost the end of my lunch break."

"When is that?"

"Two o'clock. It's 1:48 right now. I should actually really get going," He got up, bringing the tea. "Lie down and relax for now. You know you want it."

"Si . . . hangover, si. Aspirin?"

Bob took it out of his pocket, handing two to her.

"Graci."

"Adieu," He left.

"That eez French! I am Italian!" She called out.

On the way to the car, he laughed.

* * *

6:59 PM

_Home_

Bob had been back for about an hour now, spending time with Maggie and Gino. They were laughing, the toddlers tackling the adult. He pretended to go down for their benefit, laughing along with them as they used him as a play gym.

He got up, with them still riding. "I don't think either one of you really need to come with me. I can go myself, I'm a grown man, as you may recall."

They "ewwwwwwed," getting off.

He chuckled. "I'll be right back. Maybe take a shower while I'm in there."

"Don't threaten us!" They started jumping on the bed as soon as he left.

* * *

Frank Grimes opened his beady eyes. Though he was dead, he still needed glasses, which were on the shelf in the basement he was in. It was an abandoned house, something no one or thing would go into.

The basement wasn't small, or too big. It was still big for Grimes. All he used was the darkest corner to sleep in; the shelf with his glasses, an old coat hanger with his cloak, and the basement door.

He grabbed his glasses, placing the cloak around his shoulders. Light was still outside, enflaming his eyes. He covered his head with the cloak, blocking off some light; better, but still burning.

One of Frank's weaknesses was daylight. Something about the curse forbid it; even if he came from Heaven. Something horrible was happening to Frank—he was now craving human flesh. Despite this state, he knew what was happening and wondered if Heaven was still an option.

_After tonight, I'll be lucky if I get outta this with only a few missing limbs._

He crept up to the window of Maggie's room. They were jumping on the bed, unaware of the evil presence outside. Grimes felt guilt for a split second before Master's feelings raided his thoughts and mind, drowning him in pure, malicious hate.

He opened the window.

The children didn't see or hear.

He crawled inside.

They opened their mouths to scream.

With a flick of the wrist, it stopped.

* * *

Grimes now had both children wrapped in one bicep, the other hand free to use. He decided to use the front door, since the window was too small for three bodies.

He waved his free hand, and Francesca flew from the sofa to the closet, crying out. He locked the door.

Bob ran out of the bathroom (he had _almost_ showered), and didn't believe what he saw. "Grimes? Frank Grimes? _Senior?!_"

Grimes grinned and waved the hand at Bob. Something blue and liquid moved through the air, hitting him and spreading over his body. "What the-" He began to laugh and curse Grimes as what felt like feathers waved over his body, resting at the feet. He fell to the floor, removing his shoes and clutching his feet, trying to wipe off the blue goop.

"You helped arrest my son." Frank's voice was disoriented, like he was calling out from under water. "You helped the man who killed me."

Cecil ran out of his room, still a bit dizzy from the hangover. "Hey! What's going on h—_F-Frank Grimes?!_"

Grimes repeated his actions, and Cecil fell fast.

Maggie and Gino cried out when Grimes carried them out the door. Both were pleading for them to get up.

"_Daddy!"_

"_Papa!_"

Tears welled in both fathers' eyes, though not from laughing. Cecil got it together (partially), even getting on his knees, and called out, "Ma-hag-gie! Gi-hino! We _will_ find you-hoo-hoo! Ah-halways!" He fell back, hitting the floor with a fist and cursing along with Bob.

* * *

**. . . And that's all it takes to get past Sideshow Bob and Cecil now that the rakes are gone. **

***-Has anyone ever noticed this? Bart ALWAYS gets choked, but no one does anything to stop it. Marge hardly ever stops it and everyone acts as if every child gets choked when it happens. I know it's a part of the show, but it's an insensitive thing when you really get down to it.**


	12. Attempted Rescue

About ten minutes had passed. Francesca had heard nothing but laughter coming from outside. Once again, she threw herself against the door, trying to burst it open.

And, once again, she sighed. "_Roberto! Eeh-Cecil!"_

More laughter.

Her eyes filled with tears. She didn't know what was going on with those two, but she knew her babies were in trouble. _Her babies_. The thought of that alone inspired her to try to break down the door again.

She drew back, ready to pounce, when the door opened.

Bob was on the ground, his arm dropping from turning the doorknob. Francesca knelt beside him, gasping. Bob was trying to say something. From what she made out, it was: "Get it off!"

He hit the floor with his fist when she showed confusion. "What? I do not-a understand!"

"F-f-f-_FEEEEET!_" He fell back laughing.

She got up, inspecting the un-naturally sized feet from a distance. There was some sort of thick, blue . . . substance on those gunboats.

She covered her face and began to laugh and cry simultaneously. "Those feet! Those damned, over-sized…_worthless_…except for wine…over-sized damned feet! I would never have even thought how sensitive—"

"Shut uh-hup!"

She looked around, thinking. Stared back at the goop. She clutched a fistful of hair in one hand, thinking harder.

* * *

**(Special POV) +**

I saw it all happen. Now, when I was alive, I _never_ cursed. Being in-between Heaven and life, it was sort of ironic. Several of the white people glared at me, and turned back to their holes.

We couldn't see them. The white people, I mean. It's all shapes and white light. Lisa thinks they're other angels, not yet moved on like us. And, like us, they don't seem to see us either. We all hear each other though. Not very often. It's sort of like a veil between all of us, thick enough to have privacy, thin enough to hear shouts. The white people shout often at their holes, swearing and cursing, sometimes going down there to save their loved ones. They never return, probably having moved on. Other shapes fill in their places eventually, and the same process ensues.

The holes, at least what Homie named them, are what keeps us in touch with our homes, or unfinished business. Our unfinished business is with Maggie. We aren't in Heaven yet because of Maggie. We can't move on because of Grimes.

And his master.

And dammit, a mother _would_ curse if her daughter was about to die!

The rest of my family leaned forward, watching both sides of our hole. One was of the Terwilliger residence, the other being of the angel in hell dragging my daughter and her cousin to the master's house.

I cocked my head, trying to remember how the other white people did it, imagined where I wanted to go, and jumped into the hole. I think I heard the rest of my family crying out.

I emerged in the room, in the _living_ earth, stumbling a bit. I almost stepped on Cecil, the poor thing. I looked around, checking my surroundings, and looking down at myself. I looked completely normal as I had been from when I was alive, maybe a bit paler.

I opened my mouth to speak. "H-hi, everyone."

No one responded.

"Hello? Can you hear me?" I raised my voice some, taking a step forward. My footstep made no sound, though Cecil did when I stepped on his leg.

He looked up at me, eyes saucers, gasping and trying not to laugh. Though he still laughed, he backed away from me, obviously scared. He attempted to call out to Francesca and Bob.

I heard gasps. They were all looking at me now. My head turned from one person to the next; I cupped my hands together and backed up a step. Maybe I didn't think this through very well.

Francesca held out her hand. "Wait! M-Marge?"

I smiled and waved like a shy schoolgirl on her first day.

The mad cackling ruined our little moment there. I grinned wickedly at Cecil, twisting my wrist. He stopped laughing as the blue gunk flew across the room.

His cheeks were red getting up, and he said as soon as he caught his breath, "Mar-Margie?"

I grinned at him.

"You—cannot be alive," He shook his head, touching my arm. Like touching a real person. "Can you speak?"

I shook my head. _The dead do speak though. The living just don't listen.*_ I flicked my wrist again, and the plasma on Bob's feet flew onto the same wall position as the other gunk.

He laid there gasping for a minute, and leaned on the crook of his arm to face me. "How, on the face of my earth and yours, did you come back? How did Grimes come back? Where are my son and niece with a homicidal demon?!" He fell back to the floor, voice cracking on demon. Francesca leaned down with him. I didn't know if he had already been crying from laughing so hard, or if he was doing so now.

I looked at him—all of them—with pity. They had feelings too, as all human beings and the beyond do. No matter what our history is (was), they cared about the children. As did I. I wanted them to be happy.

I didn't want to stay in-between with my entire family and Gino, waiting however many years it would take for us all to be together again, to finally be able to go to Heaven.

I looked around, thinking. I can't move things, so that took out writing. Shrades? No. I'll try to lift a pen.

Fail. Cecil gives me a look, "Do you know where they are?"

I nod and point to the door.

They all got up. Bob came over to me and awkwardly put his hands on my shoulder. "Please. For our children's lives, _please_ help us save them!"

I nodded and followed them out the door.

* * *

Grimes terrified the children even more, singing:

"_Down once more, to the dungeons of my black despair! Down we plunge to the prisons of our minds! Down a path into darkness deep as HELL!_"

Maggie cringed into Gino's chest, trying to sit up straight. They were in the trunk of a black limo, stolen from Krusty while he was on "Eye on Springfield." The car kept swerving left to right, knocking the children to the sides.

Gino cried out when he was thrown against the front of the trunk.

_The front—the taillight!_

He kicked the right taillight out, so that now they could at least see where they were going. He grabbed Maggie, their little faces peering outside. Waiting for their chance to come to crawl out.

* * *

**If you don't like Marge in here, I agree. I couldn't think of anything else though, and Odd Thomas inspired me there. This should pick up now, I have a decent idea about where this is headed.**

**+ -I guess you could say they were in Purgatory. **

***- I was kind of using Odd Thomas (by Dean Koontz) with the spirit there, though I really don't know any true fact about ghosts or demons or Purgatory or anything like that that I used in here. Just that I really like Odd Thomas. **


	13. Unlucky Chapter 13 - Master

"Do you know where we are?" Gino looked at Maggie, whispering.

She nodded silently, eyes now narrowed down to slits.

"Do you know whose home we're at?"

She nodded.

His voice was merely a shaky whisper now, "Whose?"

Their grips on each other's hands tightened as the trunk door lifted up. Grimes was frowning, pointing to the children. A shadow loomed over his side, someone neither child could see.

But they could hear the raspy voice coming out of the master's dry throat. "_I told you to take the girl alone!"_

Frank flinched. "The boy was in the room with her, I could not wait. He is the son of—"

"_I don't care! You have ruined my plans!"_

Silence. Neither child tried to see him, already imagining his face to be one of a demon.

Frank feared for the worst. He knew this was coming, and possibly more if the master got angry enough.

"_Take them to the prepared room. I shall be with them shortly."_

Grimes lifted both children out of the trunk with one arm, carrying them inside. The master had on a cloak, his back to them all, so that nobody could see him.

* * *

Frank dwarf-tossed them inside the room and locked the door. Gino threw himself against it, rattling the frame. "_Let us go!_"

He was met with evil laughter, a wicked sound that echoed in his ears. He backed up a few steps to Maggie. She was crying.

He hugged her, "It's okay."

She sniffed, "No it's not!"

"We'll get out alive. Good _always_ wins, my family learned that the hard way."

"Not if Grimes has anything to do with it!"

"Who?"

"Frank Grimes! The dead guy who just carried us in here!"

"_Dead?!_" He took her by the shoulders, "What do you mean by _dead?_"

+ She explained how Homer accidentally caused Grimes to go insane and kill himself, to which also caused his son, Junior, to try to murder Homer a few months later. Homer was saved by Sideshow Bob, and both men busted Junior to the police.

Gino looked down, taking his hands down with it. He looked back up in numb, calm shock at his realization. "Ohhhhh. Your father caused his death, and Papa arrested his son." He paused, looking back up with a trembling lip, "We're going to die tonight."

"That's right, little boy."

Both children whirled around. Maggie instantly recognized the man who was standing at the doorway; from his face and voice, which he was no longer hiding. She snarled at him. Gino knew him from the library, from the two times he ever went.

"Unless, of course, your family gets here within the next hour. This will be impossible, considering their giggling state. Even if they get to a car, they will never find where we are within this hour, or even come close to finishing the fifty minute drive."

* * *

Francesca was flooring it, watching out for Marge.

She appeared at every turn they had to take on the road, and by now Homer had joined her. She didn't even see the road anymore, just the markers for their next turn. Bart and Lisa, as awkward and sort of humorous as it was, were sitting in the backseat on either side of Cecil. He had his arms crossed, eyes shifting from one child to the next.

They kept landing on Lisa.

She turned her head and smiled at him, draping her arm around his side in a hug. It was warm, and felt real and living to Cecil. He returned the gesture, "How come you can touch me, as I can you, but none of you can pick anything up?"

She shrugged. Bart tried fogging up the window. It remained crystal-clear. He turned back to him and shrugged as well.

Since no one else was talking, Bob turned to Bart, "You know, I'm sorry for trying to kill you and all when you were still alive. If you heard me at the funeral, I take back the part where I said I didn't miss you. In a way, I sort of miss coming up with those plots for your demise. They were almost fun, coming up with a murder path so twisted no one but you two could unravel it."

Both crossed their arms, nodding.

"It's just that . . . you never even felt guilty about sending me to jail, or for ruining my life in Italy. When I framed Krusty for armed robbery, it was because of those ten years of abuse."

"You could have quit."

Bob glared at Cecil. "Not the time, Cecil. I'm having a moment. I didn't quit because of you, by the way."

He threw his hands up, "Oh, so you never quit, even though it was my _dre_—_?!_"

Lisa put her hand over his mouth.

Bob nodded to her, "Thank you. Now, you never really knew how horrible that man was to his entire cast. Why the hell do you think Mel quit? He underpaid us, he abused us, let that ape of his _smoke _in my changing room. On one episode, he aimed the canon I was in at the brick wall."

Cecil poorly stifled laughter. "Ha! I remember Maris telling me about that episode, she even showed me a clip on Youtube."

"Uh-huh. Everybody saw it. That was another thing, _everybody_ saw me." His eyes lowered, "And nobody did anything about it except laugh. No sympathy from anybody, nobody but children and adults throughout the entire _world_ who did nothing but _laugh,_" His face hardened. "Until I framed the clown. Only _then_ was I adored, the first time since . . . since _never_."

Everybody grew solemn now.

"And I couldn't quit."

"Why not?" Francesca swerved the car when Marge and Homer appeared late at a turn.

"He was a persistent bastard," Bob gave a cold laugh, "Always used the legal contract I signed _made_ to make me miserable, we even went to court over it once or twice."

"Roberto, if I weren't driving, I would hug you. But didn't you read the contract before signing it?"

"_No_, I signed a _clown's_ contract before realizing what was in store as a sidekick," He rolled his eyes, "Yes, I did. I didn't realize any of the demands were serious to the very point, though. I mean, 'allowing Krusty all rights to my hair' didn't occur to me as 'set the sideshow's hair on fire.' Or, 'The costume I was assigned to wear' wasn't supposed to be a 'Hawiian one-piece.' A Hawiian _smaller-than-I'm-comfortable-with_ once piece."

"Mm, that's something we all have to watch out for," Cecil shifted in his seat. "All clowns are sneaky in that formality, they know you won't agree to anything that would inflict pain upon you, the next sideshow. Most of the sidekicks are stuck until the contract owner says it's fine to leave, I was shocked that Mel got out of it that easily."

"_We're here!_" The car took a heart attack-giving turn into what felt like a ditch to the passengers in the car.

The headlights swept across the house as the car was thrown into a wide arc spin, a brief glimpse of the demons' abode. Francesca swore under her breath, slamming the brakes. The tires lost their traction with the ground, only making the car (and the poor passengers inside) swerve at another angle, leaving the house in darkness.

"Jesus _Christ!_" Bob clung onto his arm rest and the door like his life depended on it (which it did—about four seconds ago).

Bart and Lisa had disappeared, as did their parents.

"Ah, shut up," She swore under her breath again, shifting into reverse and maneuvering the van so it could face the house again.

Something had caught her eye on the porch; her suspicion was confirmed as the headlights rested on the man. He was sitting on a rocking chair, forcing himself to get up. As he did so, there was a shudder from underneath his skin. Like his bones were stretching underneath the surface.

The passengers in the car watched in grim silence as Charles M. Burns grinned at them with crooked teeth and all the happiness of a vulture eyeing its dead prey.

* * *

**+ - To those who don't remember Frank Grimes' story.**


	14. There Are Two of Them!

**Let's get over fifty reviews for this! **

**Seriously. For a while there, one of my fics on FP was at 49 for a few months there. It was just embarassing.**

* * *

Gino once again banged on the door; Maggie tried lifting the window. She then tried unlocking it, and repeated the process. Both gave up when they saw the porch light come on, and backed into the corner when Grimes slammed open the door.

He was snarling. "HE'S RELEASED THE GRIP! I'M FREE! **FREE!**"

As Maggie cowered behind him, Gino realized something:

Grimes had claws. And they already had someone else's blood on them.

* * *

"Mr. _Burns?!_" Bob went ahead of Francesca and Cecil, his fist intent on hitting the old bastard in the face.

"Excellent. Astounding. _Wonderful_," He put both hands against each other in his trademark pose, but without the smile. "How the hell did you get out of _that_ one? We made it clear to Grimes—"

Bob now raised his fist, coming up the three steps to the porch.

Burns took a step back. "I-if you punch me—"

Bob was now right in front of him, Cecil and Francesca right behind him.

"—Then we'll make sure your children don't get out of that house alive."

Bob stopped in mid-swing.

Burns smiled as the arm swung to his side.

"You rotten old bastard." Bob didn't put anything into this sentence. It was calm, but meaningful.

Burns shrugged. "I've been called worse."

*"È stupido vecchio avvoltoio! Se uno dei nostri figli è danneggiato, allora io _personalmente_ ti ammazzo!" At the end of that, Francesca spit in his eyes.

He glared stupidly at her, wiping the flegm off of his forehead. "Alright, now I'd probably be offended if I knew what that meant. But that would take up our ti—"

A cloaked man—who Bob assumed to be Grimes—stepped out of the doorway. "_Burns_." He spoke with a heavy country accent, panic attached to a deeper-than-Bob's voice. Not Grimes.

Actually, as Bob noticed, the cloak was shredded around the stomach area. He was holding his stomach, several scarlett blood-drops leaking onto his arms. He now wondered who this man was, how he was tied into _Burns_, how Burns was tied into Grimes, how Frank even came _back_ . . .

Cecil stiffened when he heard this voice.

"I think you need ta' come back here. We waited too long. Grimesee was released."

"_What?!" _

Cecil raised a shaky hand, pointing a finger at the unnamed man. "Y-you _died_. I-I even asked around, everybody at your prison said you were sentenced to the _chair_."

The man threw back his hood, revealing a young face, younger than he really was at this time. He had dark sandy-colored bangs covering his right eye, and a long scar running down the other one.

Bob eyed this man. He vaguely remembered the voice, but none of the face. "Who are you? And what the hell do you mean by 'Grimes was released?'"

He nodded his head towards Cecil, "You can ask em' 'bout my name. But, ah, your children, as of right now friend, are in more danger than we had in mind." He eyed Francesca up and down, smiling. Then, looking at Bob, "Hee-heh. I know she's yours because this one," he jabbed a thumb at Cecil, "already got his catch of-a-lifetime, a lon' time ago."

Cecil answered this with a swift punch to the nose, drawing blood. "How the hell are _you_ two tied into this? _Why_ are you tied into the _Simpsons?"_

Mr. Burns groaned, looking back at the house. "No time! I wanted the children alive, and so they _shall_ be!" He threw open the door, running inside right before Francesca's hands reached the spot where he had just been.

The man recovered from the blow, placing his hands back on the particularly large flesh-wound. "We'll put down our differences for now, I guess. Come with me if you want your children to live," He ran inside, yelling, "Everythin'll make sense soon!"

As they flung open the door, Bob asked Cecil without turning around, "Who is he? You know him, who _is_ he?!"

They were now in a living room. The man ran past it into a hallway; they followed.

"His name is Tom Vinne," Cecil gasped, running, "and he killed my family."**

* * *

***-"You stupid old vulture! If either one of our children is harmed, then I will **_**personally**_** kill you!"**

****- If you still haven't read **_**Life**_**, Tom Vinne was . . . I honestly don't know how many times I've told you people this. Need I even say it anymore? Either go read the fic or go back to the earlier chapters where I've basically told you who this guy is.**


	15. Differences Between Monsters and Demons

**Yay! We're back—I don't know who 'we' is, but we're back! 8D**

**Even if this chapter may be pretty dark (you'll see—but be warned now, because I can't do it in the middle of a paragraph), I wrote Grimes as a demon, so he's gonna act like one. :P And it's been so long, I'd like to remind you that Tom Vinne has a deep country accent, with a deep voice. It just adds to his dark character.**

**Thanks for sticking with me all this way, my readers and reviewers (though I appreciate the reviewers especially, thank you :) ).**

* * *

The children had locked themselves in the closet, using a metal broom (carefully shoved between the door handles) to keep the monster out.

No, Frank Grimes was no longer human indeed. He had been allowed to keep some of his humanity from the curse, and from sheer willpower, he trudged forward as best as he could.

But no human could make that howling. No possible way a grown man could hide such fury, such _malevolent hatred_, in such a vicious clamor.

Both children knew, if they were to open this door or do something else to let this beast in, then they would be dead before Grimes had the chance to dig those _claws_ into their—

"_HEY!_" Mr. Burns shouted into the room. "Leave these poor young heathens alone! If anyone were to hurt them, _I'd_ be the one in serious trouble! And the police are already on _my_ hide for _your_ mess with the Simpsons!"

Grimes stopped banging against the door, and then there was silence for a few seconds.

Finally, the children heard some shuffling, and something _thunk_ against the floor.

Nothing more.

* * *

The others ran down the short hallway, Vinne leading. He stopped and slid some on the floor, reaching out and catching himself on the doorway of his designated point. He threw open the door as the three adults nearly pushed him in—all of them stopped at the sight inside the room.

Charles Montgomery Burns' body was on the floor, about a foot away from his head. His face was locked in what didn't resemble any fear whatsoever—just shock. Almost _amused_ shock, like the time a twig snapping in a movie makes you jump and laugh at yourself.

Of course, this man wasn't laughing. And wouldn't.

Frank Grimes looked like he was just turning back to the door before being interrupted. Mr. Burns' blood was dripping from his right hand.

All five of them froze before, from the closet, came the small, tired, and scared whisper of a child. "_H-hello?_"

Nobody could tell which child it was exactly, and nobody would ask later on. Grimes threw himself against the door, screaming curses at all of the people in the room.

Vinne was the only one who dared make a move against this beast—this _free_ beast, it seemed, since he was screaming it.

"_**You bloody ruined my soul! Your damned bloody curse RUINED MY SOUL! And now I'm FREE! FREE!"**_

"_Ya ain't gonna get anythin' done by killing these children!" _Vinne shoved the demon into the floor, where Bob and Cecil held his arms down. Francesca went to open the closet door.

Bob looked Vinne in the eye, a bit of his murderous side kicking in. "What the hell does he mean by 'curse?' What did you two _do_ to him?!"

Tom held his stomach, heaving air in and out of his lungs. "B-Burns—the-that power plant of h-his wasn't doin' so well. Be-because of his employees. I worked with him. I thought the same thing bout' them workers, how they ruined almost everythin' they touched. He couldn't fire em,' there whadn't nobody who would take their place. So, we-_we_, bein' the dark spirits we awe,' asked the all-mighty black magic *"Mass: Resurrection" spell-book for answers."

Grimes flopped around like a fish out of water, "_You ruined me!"_

"Grimesee here was the spirit who came upon our hearing."

"_You trapped me!"_

"He wha-was cursed t-to bend to our every whim an' such till' we let em' go."

"_You USED me!"_

"But we didn't think he would murder Simpson's _entire_ family. Ya have my word on that, I swear to it. He only killed a few worthless men before that happened. Before the press got a hold of the murders. We only told him to kill the man of the home, and Homer alone, the rest were just there when he was. Horrible coincidence of bein' at the wron' place at the _wron' time_."

Only the Terwilligers saw the Simpson family gather in the corner, the worst kind of agony and sadness splintering their faces at the mention of the reason behind their brutal murder.

"_You KILLED me!"_

Francesca ran the children out of the room in her arms as Grimes broke loose. He shoved Bob aside like a bug and nearly tore Cecil's belly open like Vinne's (but only got away with a scratch on the clothing) before Tom grabbed him from behind.

Grimes' right hand was soaked with blood from _Vinne's_ neck now. The body fell to the floor as he ran into the hallway.

With all jaws nearly dropped to the floor, the Simpsons disappeared.

Cecil stared at the man, who had murdered his family and many others in cold blood, in what felt like awe for a split-second before getting up and running out the door, his brother right beside him.

The exit was just shutting from Francesca's escape before being opened once again by the demon—once a man—who lost all sense of his humanity. The brothers followed right at his tail.

As they ran out into the night, the porch light swept away all darkness within about ten, fifteen feet of the house. But this didn't mean any one of them were watching where they stepped.

Francesca made it to the car, going so far as to open the side door, but not before Grimes was within slicing distance of her throat. He closed in the next two feet as everything seemed to turn slow-motion. Everybody screamed as Grimes lifted his arm, Sweeney Todd's razors replacing nails, preparing to bring them down. Bob and Cecil weren't close enough to stop this, not close enough to grab his arm and sacrifice their own life for hers' and the children's.

But that didn't need to happen. A shot rang throughout the air, and time _just froze_. Grimes slowly looked down at his chest before another shot went into his head.

He fell to the side as everybody turned to look at the sidewalk, where the shots had come from.

Sideshow Mel was standing there, a visibly shaking arm holding a pistol. His eyes were wide and disbelieving, "I—h-he had the—I mean, he had _claws. Blood-soaked_ claws!" His arm that held the gun dropped to the side. "He was going to _kill_ you! What on earth _was_ that?! Wh-whose blood was on his hands?!"

All of the family embraced warmly, some tears flowing. Bob looked at Mel now, a weak smile playing on his lips, "An enemy. Thank you, old friend. You just ended a worthless war and saved many lives. Especially in the nuclear power plant."

"But . . . Ah-I . . ."

"I promise, you'll have all the answers you need after we get ourselves together."

Nobody noticed, but a few light beams from the porch light showed the Simpson family, all smiling. Burns and Vinne were nowhere to be seen, but they weren't going anywhere good, that was for sure.

* * *

**Wow . . . reading back over this, I remembered how dark I can really be in a story. But I was feeling pretty hateful without a cause while writing this, so. XP **

**You'll see another chapter soon, promise. One not quite so dark as this one. :)**

***- This really is a spellbook. Believe in magic or no, it is.**


	16. Epilogue

_One Week Later . . ._

"And that should be the last of our boxes," Cecil said. He smiled.

"Yes," Bob said, "All _four_ of them."

The grin faded slightly, but didn't disappear. "The less boxes we have, the faster we can get away from here."

"Touché, Cecil."

"I honestly don't see why you're staying here." He crossed his arms. This would be the last time he and Maggie would ever step foot into that house again. If anyone wanted to visit, then they would have to come to _their_ home.

"Well, money doesn't grow on trees."

"Very true. Well, it'll certainly be less than ten years before we see each other again."

"Indeed."

"And you'll need to explain something to Mel." The ex-sidekick had not been forgotten.

"What can I say that _isn't_ the truth?" Bob shrugged, "He saw the claws, recognized the man's face. It all needs to remain a secret. Forever."

"That was no man, may I remind you. Not after everything that he's done. Except for Mel—but even then, there'll be a lot of unhappy children when nobody shows up for clown auditions, after the funeral confession."

"Speaking of children, I think you've left 'Maria' behind."

Maggie was the only one who was still inside. The Simpsons had decided to show up.

Nobody was talking—well, if they _could_ talk, they didn't. They were on one side of the room, her on the other, with her stuffed bunny (the one thing she almost forgot and had come back inside to retrieve).

They all stood there for what seemed like eternity, and then Bob stepped inside to get her. He stopped at the sight of the deceased family, and smiled.

They all grinned back, and disappeared.

Except for Bart—he made a face involving stretching out his cheek muscles with his fingers and sticking out his tongue, and then joined the family.

Forever, this time.

"Come on," Bob gently picked Maggie up. "Let's get you out of here."

* * *

We weren't in the white place anymore, with the holes. Just in someplace dark.

"Mom," Bart tugged on my dress, pointing to something behind me.

I turned around. There was not only the white light everybody talks about, but it illuminated a tunnel—filled with our ancestors. Mine were on the left. Homer's was on the right.

We started walking down the tunnel, and I saw my own father at the end of my side (ironically enough, he was smoking), closest to the light. Homer's mother was right across from him.

As we approached, the light grew somewhat dimmer, and I saw a pair of golden gates. They swung open when we got there.

"We'll be right behind you," Mona said, ushering us inside.

"Hey Grandma." Both children said together. They looked at my own father. "Hey Grandpa."

"Nice to meet you," Lisa nodded to him, walking into the gates with Bart.

"Same here." He nodded to them, and to me.

Homer and I walked in.

* * *

The driver's window was partly down, letting in the wild wind. Even if it was made up mostly of air heated by the summer, it felt good.

"So where are we going? Please don't say Shelbyville."

He laughed, "No, no. It's in west Springfield, we're still in 'poor town.' I think we should stay here for a while, anyway. At the very least not leave the town as the police are working on the murder of Mr. Burns. And two other _unidentified_ men. Even they can't be that stupid."

"Mm . . . And Mom's side of the family has been here for generations. But what about my family?"

"Nobody has recognized you yet, with the curly hair. I think we can rela-"

Their heads snapped around when someone, with a deep voice, shouted from outside, "**I'M FREE!** _**FREE!**_"

They gasped, though a man came running around the bend just afterwards. He had a prison uniform on—it was Snake Jailbird. He coughed some, and said in a regular voice, "Like, that was the longest time I've _ever_ had to stay in jail. They actually got electric fences around the place."

Cecil grimaced, and kept driving.

The black eyes of three ghostly figures in a nearby alley flickered, and then went out as soon as the car drove out of sight.

_END (dramatic pause) . . .** ?**_

* * *

**I'll leave a poll up later on debating about a sequel to this.**

**However, I'll need a while to comprehend the fact that I'm actually done with this fic. It was my very first story on here! *Sniff* Well, thanks for reviewing, everybody! It's been awesome. Even during the severe cases of writer's block. :P**

**But the question remains . . . Will this thing stick at 56 reviews forever? I'll let you decide!**


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